AMERICAN LITERATURE EDITED BY ROBERT SHAFER I 1^ I ■I I JULIET ACCAU AMSCN "^fx^JJL 'vvf^, ^ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 http://www.archive.org/details/americanliteratuOOshaf AMERICAN LITERATURE AMl^KICAN LIPKRATURK {(U) m [>l et e E d i I i o n ) TEXTS SKLECTKO AND EDITED ROIM'R'r SIIAI /KK. Pii.l) I'Koi I ssoR or I. Ill kahiki: and Fia-Low OK iiM': (;kai)Iiaii; si iiool, UNIVI'KNIIY or (INCINNAII #ifeT< *i> luiJ ' 'iiU f; A U I) \ N (" I r Y N J' W V () K K DO IJ 15 L 1. I) A Y, r A (i I-: h COMPANY 1027 COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIKE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Yo TO ELIZABETH FAHRNEY SHAFER AND SAMUEL McCAULEY SHAFER MY PARENTS PREFACE This work was planned, at the Invitation of the pubHshers, immediately after the appearance of my From Beowulf to Thomas Hardy (2 volumes, 1924), and my aim has been to follow, so far as different material and conditions should permit, the plan upon which those volumes were based. In the Preface to From Beowulf to Thomas Hardy I stated my conviction, gained from my own experience and that of many other teachers, *'that anthologies and collections of extracts are more useful to those who know literature than to those who are just learning to know it." The student who does not already know a writer's works can gain neither a correct nor a lasting impression from reading a few pages of brief poems or of fragments. On the contrary, he inevitably becomes confused, and in the end retains only the perniciously mistaken notion that he has sufficiently explored the riches of a literature w^hen, in reality, he has no immediate acquaintance with it which deserves the name. This is the more true because the almost unavoidable tendency of anthologies and collections of extracts is to stress the minor phases of literature at the expense of its great masterpieces. Indeed, to speak frankly, Instruction based on such books is scarcely better than a sham — teacher and students tacitly agreeing to cover the ground In a manner which merely ** saves the appearances." This is generally realized, and deplored, yet the alternative plan of making acquaintance with a relatively small number of complete books the basis of a survey of a nation's literature is neither satisfactory nor. Indeed, actually practicable. Even though the number of books used be small, the expense of this plan Is likely to be prohibitive; and, in any event, the resultant "survey" is not only fragmentary, but gravely misleading, and can afford no sufficient foundation either for later academic w^ork or for the student's inde- pendent reading. The only real alternative is a collection of texts which, omitting writers of minor Importance and those who could lend merely their names and a few Inade- quate fragments to the work, Includes a genuinely representative body of selections adequate in the case of each writer to make a marked and lasting impression upon the learner. The appearance — It can only be an "appearance," and a ridiculous one — of "including everything" no matter how thinly the ground is covered, must deliberately be sacrificed In order that the writers who are repre- sented may be adequately represented, hot for one who has read widely and knows how to place a brief selection, but for the learner, and in order also that the greater and more significant elements of a literature may be represented no less than its minor and relatively Insignificant elements. And though I use the word vii viii PREFACE "sacrificed," tins is really no sacrifice, Inir an invaluable aid to every teacher who regards Ins work seriously and aims at solid and lasting results. It has heen my effort m the present work to furnish siirh a body of selections from yXmericaii literature, primarily for students in colleges and universities. So far as I am aware, no existing compilation does this. Ehe editor of a volume published while the present work was in preparation admits that he has included in his book ** approximately eighty-five minor writers." This is to confuse the needs of the advanced student with those of the student in the general, intro- ductory course, and to serve the needs of neither. It is possible, as I hope the present compilation shows, to exhibit the important elements entering into American literature, and also the major characteristics of the literature in its historical development, without drawing upon writers or books of merely anti- quarian interest, and without including writers, the quality and real character of whose work could not be, for one reason or another, satisfactorily displayed within the space that could be accorded to them. In making selections I have endeavored to govern myself, not by criteria derived from other national literatures, but by the actual development of our own. This is a matter of greater difficulty than may at first sight appear. Still a young nation, we are nevertheless sharers in an old culture, and our own elder literature is that of England. Our writers have been, as writers, from the begin- ning, citizens of the Western world, drawing inspiration and instruction from the literature which we share with England and from the literatures of Europe. This has been, and continues to be, at once unescapable and desirable, though it has often been made, both at home and abroad, the subject of ignorant or undiscerning reproach. Contemporary writers who superciliously refer to the first half of the nineteenth century as **the New England or imitative period" of our literature are themselves the products of cultural influences not exclusively American — as are all of us — and need only a little more knowledge and a little less complacency to be self-convicted of absurdity. On the other hand, of course, mere imitation can at best result only in second-rate literature, and it cannot be denied that our writers have produced much of doubtful value because of its predominantly derivative character. Critics of American letters have not always avoided two dangers which these remarks suggest. There has been in some quarters a tend- ency to understand the word literature narrowly, in obedience to recent and questionable European criticism which would restrict it to belles lettres, and to search the native field for matter which will fit the imported conception. It is not surprising that such critics have failed to discover the spirit of American literature, have fixed their attention upon some of our productions which are of little or no worth, have neglected other matter of high importance and value, and have ended on a note of general depreciation. In point of fact there are distinctively American strains running through our literature from its beginnings to the present time, but discovery of these has equally been retarded by another tendency — a tendency to celebrate whatever eccentricity has begotten upon ignorance in this new land as, at last, the authentic American achievement. The prevalence of such mistaken points of departure in the criticism of PREFACE IX American literature may help to account for the fact that native letters have been, until recently, almost neglected in our colleges and universities. It is more than time that this condition should change, and it will be an event of happy augury for our future as a nation when it can be said confidently that it has changed. Some college professors have been heard to say that they would con- sider their lives wasted if spent in the teaching of our literature, but such an attitude can be only the result of ignorance, bred by a vicious specialism. Our little specialists, indeed, have tended to rob all literary studies of breadth and substance and deep human value by their acceptance of ^'current finical and transitory definitions of literature" which divorce the subject from intellectual, social, and political history; but the ignorance and narrowness encouraged by specialism cannot indefinitely delay the realization that neglect of American letters is disgraceful. For in reality there are "admirable riches of human nature" stored in our literature whose discovery should not be left to unlikely accident and the chance recommendations of journalists; and, in addition, it requires but little thought to recognize the extraordinary nature, after all, of the fact that we should pretend to give our youth a liberal education, and yet should omit their own literature from their courses of instruction. This may have been well once; it is w^ell no longer when — as any candid review of such matter as is gathered in the present work must show — we incontestably have produced a national literature of high value from any point of view, and one which must be known and studied by all who seek to learn what it means to be an American. In the preparation of this collection of texts, I have endeavored to reduce explanatory matter to its minimum, but, at the same time, I have aimed to provide such help as may be needed for fairly rapid yet accurate reading, and also to pro- vide information sufficient for the personal approach to the various writers repre- sented w^hich is an indispensable element in the study of literature. Wherever it has been possible, only pieces complete in themselves have been selected for use. Omissions have been permitted solely because of considerations of space; and all editorial omissions in the texts are indicated by asterisks, so as to dis- tinguish them plainly from the cases where authors themselves have, for one purpose or another, made use of extra periods. In general, modern usage has been followed in the matters of spelling and punctuation, though to this rule a few exceptions have been made in cases where (as in Bacon s Epitaph) this has seemed advantageous. Such a work as the present one involves many debts, not all of which can even be acknowledged, much less repaid. The help afforded by the Cambridge History of American Literature has been indispensable, and I also owe much to earlier editors. I am indebted, in common with all students of our literature, to the important historical studies of Professor Fred Lewis Pattee and to his scholarly edition of the more important poems of Freneau. Other obligations there are, too numerous for any save this general acknowledgment, but I must at least express my gratitude to several persons without whose help or encouragement my work would have been far more difficult: — Mr. Edwin Arlington Robinson, Mrs. William Vaughn Moody, Mr. Paul Elmer More, Mr. John Jay Chapman, Mr. and Mrs. PREFACE Vachel Lindsay, Mr. Wilson Follctt, Mr. Horace Livcright, Mrs. Alfred A. Knopf, Professor J. Penrose Harland of the University of Cincinnati, Mrs. O. T. Wilson of the Cincinnati Public Library, Mr. E. D. Hellweg and Mr. W. E, Thomas of the staff of Messrs. Doubleday, Page and Company, and, finally, my wife, whose aid in the preparation of the manuscript, in the reading of proofs, and indeed in every phase of the work, has been constant and invaluable. My obligations to several publishing houses are recorded in each case on the pages where they occur. No pains have been spared to secure accuracy in both texts and notes, but in such a compilation as this errors are almost inevitable. I hope that at least no serious ones remain to be discovered, but I shall be grateful to any who use the work for pointing out to me any errors they find, of whatever sort, so that they may be promptly corrected. Robert Shafek 10 May, 1926. CONTENTS PAGE PART I : FROM THE BEGINNINGS TO LINCOLN AND MOTLEY Bacon's Epitaph I Cotton Mather Magnalia Christ! Americana: Book II, Chap. IV, Life of John Winthrop .......... 4 Book VI, Chap. VII, Preternatural Occurrences: The Ninth Example .... 14 John Wise A Vindication of the Government of New England Churches: Second Demonstration, from the Light of Nature ........ 22 Passage on Mixed Governments • • 34 Jonathan Edwards The Mind: Excellency .............. 37 Notes on Natural Science: Of the Prejudices of the Imagination 41 Of Being ........... 42 Things to be Considered, Second Series, 47 45 Sarah Pierrepont 45 Personal Narrative .............. 45 The Christian Pilgrim 53 Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God 60 Benjamin Franklin Autobiography (With omissions) ............ 70 The Way to Wealth 114 John Dickinson Letters from a Farmer In Pennsylvania: Letter I 119 Letter XI ........ 121 St. John de Cr^vecceur Letters from an American Farmer: Letter III, What is an American.? 128 Thomas Paine Common Sense: I. On the Origin and Design of Government In General, with Concise Remarks on the English Constitution ........... 142 II. Of Monarchy and Hereditary Succession ........ 145 III. Thoughts on the Present State of American Affairs 149 Thomas Jefferson The Unanimous Declaration of the Thirteen United States of America ..... 159 First Inaugural Address ............. 162 Character of Washington ............. 164 Alexander Hamilton The Federalist: XV. The Insufficiency of the Present Confederation to Preserve the Union . , , 168 XVI. The Same Subject Continued 172 XXIII. The Necessity of a Government as Energetic as the One Proposed to the Pres- ervation of the Union .......... 175 LXX. The Executive Department Further Considered 177 Joel Barlow The Hasty Pudding , . . . . 1S2 xi xii CONTENTS Phii.ip Kri-ni-au page On the Memorable Victory of Paul Jones 189 To the Memory of the Brave Americans .......... 191 The Political Balance 191 On Captain liarney's Victory over the Ship G^w^rrrt/ A/on^ 196 The Wild Honey Suckle 197 To an Author 197 The Indian i^urying Ground 198 Ode (God save the Rights of Man) 198 On a Honey Bee 199 On the Anniversary of the Storming of the Bastille 199 The Republican Genius of Europe 200 To a Caty-Did 200 Washington Irving The Sketch-Book: The Author's Account of Himself 202 Knglish Writers on America ......... 204 Rural Life in England 208 John Bull 211 TheAlhambra: Palace of the Alhambra 216 Important Negotiations. — The Author Succeeds to the Throne of Boabdil (A portion omitted) . . . . 222 The Hall of Ambassadors .......... 223 The Court of Lions (A portion omitted) ....... 225 Legend of the Arabian Astrologer 227 Legend of the Two Discreet Statues 235 William Cullen Bryant Thanatopsis 245 The Yellow Violet 246 Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood ........... 246 To a Waterfowl 247 A Forest Hymn 248 I Broke the Spell 249 I Cannot Eorget 249 The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus ........... 250 To the Fringed Gentian .............. 251 The Prairies ................ 251 The Poet 253 William Hickling Prescott History of the Conquest of Peru, Book III: Chap. Ill (A portion omitted) .... 256 Chap. IV 258 Chap. V (A portion omitted) .... 266 John Caldwell Calhoun A Disquisition on Government (With omissions) ......... 275 Ralph Waldo Emerson The Rhodora ................ 292 Each and All 292 The Apology ................ 293 Concord Hymn ............... 293 The Humble-Bee 294 The Problem 294 The Sphinx ................ 295 The Snow-Storm ............... 297 Fable 297 Forbearance . 297 To J. W 297 Destiny 298 Ode, Inscribed to W. H. Channing 298 Give All to Love 299 Musketaquid 300 CONTENTS xiii PAGE Days 301 Two Rivers ................ 301 Brahma ................. 301 Ode, Sung in the Town Hall, Concord, July 4, 1857 301 Waldeinsamkeit ............... 302 Nature: Introduction .............. 303 I. Nature 303 II, Commodity .............. 304 III. Beauty 305 IV. Language .............. 308 V. Discipline . . . . . . . . . . . . . '311 VI. Idealism 314 VII. Spirit 317 VIII. Prospects 319 The American Scholar .............. 322 Essays, First Series: II. Self-Reliance . . . . . . . . . . -331 IX. The Over-Soul 344 Essays, Second Series: VII. Politics ........... 352 Representative Men: VI. Napoleon; or, The Man of the World ..... . 358 The Conduct of Life: VII. Considerations by the Way .... ... 368 Henry David Thoreau Sympathy ................ 379 Sic Vita 380 Independence ................ 380 Walden: II. Where I Lived, and What I Lived For ........ 380 IIL Reading 388 IV. Sounds .............. 393 V. Solitude 400 VII. The Bean-Field 404 XI. Higher Laws 409 XII. Brute Neighbors 410 Life without Principle .............. 424 Nathaniel Hawthorne The Scarlet Letter ............... 433 Edgar Allan Poe A Dream within a Dream ............. 523 Sonnet — To Science .............. 524 Romance ................ 524 To (The bowers whereat, in dream, I see) ......... 524 To (I heed not that my earthly lot) .......... 524 To Helen ................ 524 Israfel 525 The City in the Sea .............. 525 The Sleeper ................ 526 The Raven ................ 527 Ulalume ................. 529 The Bells ................ 530 Eldorado ................ 531 For Annie ................ 532 Annabel Lee ................ 533 The Assignation ............... 533 To One in Paradise .............. 538 Ligeia 539 The Conqueror Worm .............. 542 The Fall of the House of Usher ............ 547 The Haunted Palace .............. 552 The Mask of the Red Death 557 The Purloined Letter 560 xiv CONTENTS PAGE The Cask ot AinontilhuK) ............. 569 Hawthorne's T:cici-Told Talcs ............ 572 The Poetic Principle 576 Henry Wadsworth Longfkllow The Spirit of Poetry 588 A Psahn of Life 5S9 Hymn to the Night 5S9 Footsteps of Angels .............. 589 The Slave's Dream .............. 590 The Arsenal at Springfield ............. 591 Nuremberg ................ 591 Children ................ 593 The Warden of the Cincjue Ports ............ 593 Catawba Wine ............... 594 My Lost Youth 595 Weariness ................ 596 Divina Commedia ............... 596 Giotto's Tower ............... 597 John Greenleaf Whittier The Moral Warfare .............. 599 Forgiveness ................ 599 Proem ................. 599 The Wish of To-day .............. 600 Ichabod ..... ...... 600 First-Day Thoughts 601 Trust 601 Burns ................. 601 Maud Muller 603 The Barefoot Boy ............... 604 Skipper Ireson's Ride .............. 605 Telling the Bees 606 Laus Deo ................ 607 Snow-Bound ................ 608 Oliver Wendell Holmes The Height of the Ridiculous ............ 617 Old Ironsides ................ 617 The Ballad of the Oysterman 617 My Aunt 618 The Last Leaf 619 The Poet's Lot 619 On Lending a Punch-Bowl ............. 620 The Stethoscope Song .............. 621 The Chambered Nautilus 622 The Voiceless ................ 622 Hymn of Trust ............... 623 The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table: I 623 Album Verses 629 Latter-Day Warnings 632 A Parting Health (To J. L. Motley) 632 II 633 Sun and Shadow 638 Prologue (This is It) 640 Ode for a Social Meeting ............ 641 XI ... 642 The Deacon's Masterpiece 643 iEstivation 647 Contentment 649 CONTENTS XV James Russell Lowell page Sonnets: III (I would not have this perfect love) 651 VI (Great Truths are portions of the soul) ........ 651 XXV (I grieve not that ripe Knowledge) . . . . . . . . .651 The Sower 652 Freedom ................ 652 The Biglow Papers, First Series: I. A Letter from Mr. Ezekiel Biglow 653 III. What Mr. Robinson Thinks 656 VI. The Pious Editor's Creed 658 A Fable for Critics (With omissions) 660 The Washers of the Shroud 676 The Biglow Papers, Second Series: The Courtin' 678 VI. Sunthin* in the Pastoral Line 679 Ode Recited at the Harvard Commemoration . . 684 An Ember Picture 689 Leaves from my Journal in Italy and Elsewhere: IV. A Few Bits of Roman Mosaic 690 Thoreau ................. 700 On a Certain Condescension in Foreigners 707 Abraham Lincoln Cooper Union Speech (A portion omitted) . . . . . . , . . .721 Alessage to Congress in Special Session (4 July, 1861) ........ 728 The Gettysburg Address ............. 736 Letter to Mrs. Bixby 736 Second Inaugural Address ............. 737 John Lothrop Motley The Rise of the Dutch Republic: Part II, Administration of the Duchess Margaret, Chap. I ..... , 740 PART II : FROM MELVILLE AND WHITMAN TO THE PRESENT TIME Herman Melville Moby Dick; or, The White Whale: Chap. XXXVI. The Quarter-Deck 3 Chap. XXXVII. Sunset 7 Chap. XXXVIII. Dusk . 7 Chap. XXXIX. First Night-Watch 8 Chap. XL. Midnight. — Forecastle 8 Chap. XLI. MobvDick 11 Chap. LXXXV. The Fountain 16 Chap. XCVI. The Try-Works 19 Chap. CXXXII. The Symphony .......... 21 Chap. CXXXIII. The Chase — First Day 23 Chap. CXXXIV. The Chase — Second Day ......... 27 Chap. CXXXV. The Chase — Third Day 32 Epilogue ................ 37 Walt Whitman Shut Not Your Doors 41 Poets to Come 41 Starting from Paumanok 41 Song of Myself 48 One Hour to Madness and Joy 82 Whoever You are Holding Me now in Hand 83 Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances ........... 84 The Base of All Metaphysics ,,....,. 84 XVI CONTENTS FACE . RccorcliTS A);cs I Icnce 85 I Hear it was Charged against Me 85 Wlu'ii I Peruse the Conquered Fame ....*....,. S5; No Labor-Saving Machine 86. Song of the Open Road 86 Crossing Brooklyn Ferry ga Pioneers! O Pioneers! .............. 95; Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking 98; Tears ................. 102: On the Beach at Night . . . . . . . . . . . . . .102: When I Heard the Learn 'd Astronomer 103; Thought (Of obedience) .............. 103; Come up from the Fields Father ............ 103; As I Lay with my Head in your Lap Camerado ......... 104;. When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed .......... 105: 0 Captain! My Captain! . . . . . . . . . . . . . iiO' There was a Child Went Forth . . . . . . . . . . , .110 Who Learns my Lesson Complete? . . . . . . . . . . .111 Whispers of Heavenly Death . . . . . . . . . . . . .112 Frchce to Leaves of Grass, 1855 ............ 113 A Backward Glance o'er Traveled Roads .......... 120 Francis Parkman The Jesuits in North America in the Seventeenth Century: Chap. XVL Isaac Jogues ............ 130 Chap. XVn. The Iroquois (A portion omitted) ........ 139 Chap. XXII. Priest and Puritan (A portion omitted) ....... 143 Chap. XXIV. The Huron Church 147 Emily Dickinson This is my Letter 153 I'm Nobody 153 1 Meant to Have but Modest Needs 153 I Like to See It Lap the Miles 153 He Preached 154 There is no Frigate like a Book ............ 154 It Dropped so Low in my Regard ............ 154 The Bone that has no Marrow ............ 154 Doubt Me, my Dim Companion ............ 154 If You were Coming in the Fall ............ 154 She Rose to his Requirement ............. 155 Of All the Souls that Stand Create 155 I Like a Look of Agony .............. 155 I've Seen a Dying Eye 155 The Bustle in a House 155 Bret Harte ' ^ Mliss , . Mark Twain Life on the Mississippi: Chap. IV. The Boys' Ambition Chap. XVIII. I Take a Few Extra Lessons .... Chap. XIX. Brown and I Exchange Compliments Chap. XX. A Catastrophe ...... Chap. XXI. A Section in my Biography (A sentence omitted) Chap. L. The "Original Jacobs" (Portions omitted) Chap. LX. Speculations and Corjelijisioijs (Portions omitted) John Muir The Mountains of California: Chap. III. The Snow .... Chap.. ly, A Near View of the High Sierra )'■■ 157 172 174 177 179 181 182 183 186 190 CONTENTS xvii William Dkan Howells page Criticism and Fiction: II. (A portion omitted) 201 IV 204 XV 205 XVIII 206 XIX 209 XXII. (A portion omitted) 211 Henry James The Death of the Lion 214 The Special Type 233 Henry Adams History of the United States, Vol. I: Chap. II. Popular Characteristics .... 244 Chap. VI. American Ideals ..... 255 Sidney Lanier The Marshes of Glynn 267 Song of the Chattahoochee ............. 269 From the Flats 269 The Symphony ............... 270 Struggle 274 Song for The Jacquerie (May the maiden) ........ . . 274 John Banister Tabb Compensation ............... 275 To an Old Wassail-Cup 275 Autumn Song ................ 275 Angels of Pain ............... 275 Baby ................. 276 A Bunch of Roses ............... 276 Shadows ................ 276 At Last 276 The Pilgrim ................ 276 An Interview ................ 276 Anticipation ................ 276 Deus Absconditus ............... 276 Fancy 276 The Voyager ................ 276 Adrift ................. 277 My Secret . 277 George Washington Cable Belles Demoiselles Plantation , . 279 Lafcadio Hearn Fuji-no-Yama ............... 289 A Question in the Zen Texts , 298 Of Moon-Desire 300 Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Louisa .................. 303 Clyde Fitch The Girl with the Green Eyes . . . , 315 Stephen Crane The Black Riders and Other Lines: 1 350 ni 350 VII 350 IX. 350 XI. 350 XVII 350 XX. 350 XXIV 350 xvi.i CONTENTS PAGE XXX. 351 XLIV 351 XI>V 351 xmii 351 War is Kind: ^ 3SI IV ,51 XIII 351 XIV 352 XV 352 XXII. ................ 352 A Mystery of Heroism .............. 352 Passage from A Gray Sleeve • 357 William Crary Brownell Cooper 360 William Vaughn Moody I am the Woman ............... 381 The Death of Eve 382 O. Henry A Lickpenny Lover 387 The Roads we Take 390 The Furnished Room 392 Edith Wharton The Pelican 396 Edwin Arlington Robinson Flammonde 408 Cassandra 409 Old King Cole 410 The Man against the Sky . . . . . . . . . . . . .411 Richard Cory 414 Isaac and Archibald .............. 414 The Growth of "Lorraine" 419 Miniver Cheevy ............... 419 Firelight 420 Inferential ................ 420 Mr. Flood's Party 420 Vain Gratuities . , 421 John Jay Chapman Emerson 422 George Santayana Sonnet III (0 world, thou choosest not) 453 Sonnet XLII (As when the scepter dangles) .......... 453 Ode II (My heart rebels) 454 The Poetry of Barbarism 454 Paul Elmer More Lafcadio Hearn ............... 47^ The New Morality 479 The Spirit and Poetry of Early New England 487 Theodore Dreiser The Second Choice 49^ Amy Lowell Guns as Keys: and the Great Gate Swings . .510 Robert Frost In Neglect 522 Revelation 5^2 The Demiurge's Laugh 522 CONTENTS xix PAGE Mending Wall 522 The Death of the Hired Man 523 A Servant to Servants 525 The Code 528 The Road not Taken 529 An Old Man's Winter Night 530 The Hill Wife: I. Loneliness — Her Word 530 II. House Fear .............. 530 III. The Smile — Her Word 530 IV. The Ott Repeated Dream 530 V. The Impulse . . . . . . . . . . . . . ♦ 53^ The Sound of the Trees .............. 531 Fire and Ice ................ 53 1 The Runaway. ............... 531 The Onset 532 Vachel Lindsay I Know All This When Gypsy Fiddles Cry 534 Incense 536 Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight 536 Springfield Magical .............. 537 A Gospel of Beauty: I. The Proud Farmer ............. 537 II. The Illinois Village 538 III. On the Building of Springfield 538 John L. Sullivan, the Strong Boy of Boston 539 Simon Legree — A Negro Sermon ............ 540 John Brown ................ 541 How Samson Bore away the Gates of Gaza .......... 542 Queen Mab in the Village 543 My Fathers Came from Kentucky 544 Edgar Lee Masters Spoon River Anthology: The Hill 546 Robert Fulton Tanner 547 Benjamin Pantier .............. 547 Mrs, Benjamin Pantier 547 Daisy Fraser 548 Doctor Meyers 548 Mrs. Meyers 548 Knowit Hoheimer 548 Doc Hill 548 Fiddler Jones 549 Petit, the Poet 549 Washington McNeely 549 Thomas Rhodes .............. 549 Editor Whedon 550 Seth Compton 550 Perry Zoll 550 Archibald Higbie 550 Father Malloy 551 Anne Rutledge 551 Rutherford McDowell 551 Lucinda Matlock 551 Slip-Shoe Lovey 552 Christmas at Indian Point 552 Mournin' for Religion 553 XX CONTENTS The New Spoon River: Kzra Fink Dick S.ii>|HT . Thomas MacCrackcn Henry Raheneau Sarah Dewitt . On a Death Mask (Four Sonnets) Sherwood ANorRSON A Man of Ideas "Queer" .... brink Eugene O'Neill "The Hairy Ape" ....... Index of Authors, Titles, and First Lines of Poems 554 554 555 555 555 555 558 562 566 572 597 CONTENTS Arranged according to Types It need scarcely be said that the classification of literature by types is always and of necessity a fluid and approximate matter. Many methods are equally possible, and for various purposes dif- ferent methods are best. No classification by types is likely to suit two teachers equally well; for, even when there is agreement as to the best or most useful method for a specific purpose, there is still room for many differences of opinion as to the place within a system of classification where a given work is to be put. Probably no one has ever looked through a classified list without at once seeing what he considered mistakes of judgment. The texts in the present collection are arranged chrono- logically to illustrate the course of American literature from its beginning to the present day, in order that students may be enabled to form a sound conception of our literature as a whole and in its his- torical development. But it is believed that this arrangement of the texts is also the most satisfac- tory one for the purpose of studying types of literature. For it not only insures something, at least, of the historical perspective essential in any study of literature, but also enables teachers to make their own classifications in accordance with their own judgment and in accordance with the needs of their own students. ►/. The following arrangement by types is intended as a suggestion for this purpose. It is hoped that it may be practically useful, and to this end strict consistency has been sacrificed. Some types of literature are important and significant for their form, others for their method, and others for their content. The effort has been to distinguish important types, regardless of the system of classifica- tion which any one taken by itself might suggest as appropriate for the whole body of literature. Moreover, in several of the groups of lyrical poems pieces have been included which, though not properly lyrics, nevertheless belong, either by virtue of content or by virtue of form, to a distinct and predominantly lyrical type. Some duplication in a classification according to types is in any event unavoidable, but this procedure in the present instance has materially lessened duplication, and at the same time it should, in fact, increase the practical usefulness of the following lists. I. EPIC Burlesque-Epic part page Joel Barlow The Hasty Pudding I 182 II. NARRATIVE IN VERSE .-''''J John Greenleaf Whittier Snow-Bound ^^l^tA .XT"^-" 'I 608 James Russell Lowell • .^ih^^^n-i?. Sunthin' in the Pastoral Line } iS. .^.^}.V.V^} . .^."^'^ I 679 William Vaughn Moody noii);?fi.)f|fri(0 The Death of Eve ^}9r}V:^^^^7! M} .^h ."J II 382 Edwin Arlington Robinson -^no?. rurimuA Isaac and Archibald ...■.•.•.•..•..■..; Pi^7.V. ?vW.^ II Amy Lowell ydnH Guns as Keys: And the Great Gate Swings .-.■. t?.nJ iA n xxi ^ ^"'^2 '-^^ . 414 510 xxu CONTENTS BY TYPES III. BALLAD Phii.ip Freneau part page On the Memorable Victory of Paul Jones I 189 On Captain Barney's Victory over the Ship General Monk I 196 John Greenleaf Whittier Maud Mullcr I 603 Skipper Ireson's Ride I 605 Oliver Wendell Holmes The Ballad of the Oysterman I 617 The Stethoscope Song I 621 The Deacon's Masterpiece I 643 James Russell Lowell The Courtin' I 678 IV. DRAMA Clyde Fitch The Girl with the Green Eyes II 315 Eugene O'Neill "The Hairy Ape" II 572 I. Meditative Philip Freneau To an Author William Cullen Bryant To a Waterfowl A Forest Hymn V. LYRIC I 197 On a Honey Bee I 199 Ralph Waldo Emerson Each and All The Sphinx Henry David Thoreau Sic Vita Edgar Allan Poe A Dream within a Dream Sonnet — To Science Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Children Weariness John Greenleaf Whittier Proem The Barefoot Boy. . . . Oliver Wendell Holmes The Chambered Nautilus James Russell Lowell ' The Sower Emily Dickinson He Preached There is no Frigate like a Book. . . , The Bustle in a House. ^Sidney Lanier Struggle (John Banister Tabb Compensation I To an Old Wassail-Cup Autumn Song - Angels of Pain Baby^^ .....^■. ] V At Last My Secret I 247 I Cannot Forget I 249 I 248 The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus I 250 I 292 The Problem I 294 I 29s I 380 Independence I 380 I 523 Romance I 524 I 524 Israfel I 525 I 593 My Lost Youth I 595 I 596 I 599 Burns I 601 I 604 I 622 I 652 II II 154 154 The Voiceless Freedom .... I 622 I 652 The Bone that has no Marrow. ... II 154 I Like a Look of Agony II 155 n iss II 274 II 275 The Pilgrim II 276 II 275 Anticipation II 276 II 275 Deus Absconditus II 276 II 275 Fancy II 276 II 276 The Voyager II 276 II 276 Adrift II 277 II 277 CONTENTS BY TYPES xxiii Stephen Crane part page The Black Riders and Other Lines: VII II 350 XXX II 351 IX II 350 XLV II 351 War is Kind: I II 351 XIII II 351 IV 11 351 XV II 352 Edwin Arlington Robinson The Man against the Sky II 411 Robert Frost Revelation II 522 The Sound of the Trees II 531 The Demiurge's Laugh II 522 Fire and Ice II 531 The Road not Taken II 529 The Onset II 532 Vachel Lindsay I Know All This When Gypsy Fiddles Cry II 534 Springfield Magical II 537 On the Building of Springfield II 538 The Illinois Village II 538 My Fathers Came from Kentucky. II 544 Religious Ralph Waldo Emerson Brahma I 301 John Greenleaf Whittier The Wish of To-day I 600 First-Day Thoughts I 601 Trust I 601 Oliver Wendell Holmes Hymn of Trust I 623 Vachel Lindsay Incense II 536 Love Ralph Waldo Emerson Give All to Love I 299 Henry David Thoreau Sympathy I 379 Edgar Allan Poe To (The bowers whereat) I 524 To (I heed not that my earthly lot) I 524 For Annie I 532 Edward Coate Pinkney A Health I 582 Emily Dickinson Doubt Me, my Dim Companion II 154 If You were Coming in the Fall II 154 She Rose to his Requirement II 155 Of All the Souls that Stand Create II 155 Sidney Lanier Song for The Jacquerie II 274 Vachel Lindsay Queen Mab in the Village II 543 Nature Philip Freneau The Wild Honey Suckle I 197 To a Caty-Did I 200 William Cullen Bryant The Yellow Violet . I 246 A Forest Hymn I 248 Inscription for the Entrance to a I Broke the Spell I 249 Wood I 246 To the Fringed Gentian I 251 The Prairies I 251 Ralph Waldo Emerson The Rhodora I 292 The Snow-Storm I 297 The Apology I 293 Musketaquid I 300 The Humble-Bee I 294 Two Rivers I 301 Waldeinsamkeit I 302 xxiv CONTENTS BY TYPES Hi NRY W.vDswdKin Longfellow part page The Spirit of Pottry I 588 SiDNKY Lanier The Marshes of (ilynn II 267 The Sonj^ of the Chattahoochee. . . II 269 From the Flats II 269 Robert Frost The Sound of the Trees II 531 The Onset II 532 Dramalic William Vaughn Moody I Am the Woman II 381 Edwin Arlington Robinson Flammonde II 40S Richard Cory II 414 Cassandra II 409 The (irowth of "Lorraine" II 419 Old King Cole II 410 Miniver Cheevy II 419 Mr. Flood's Party II 420 Robert Frost Mending Wall II 522 The Code II 528 The Death of the Hired Man II 523 An Old Man's Winter Night II 530 A Servant to Servants II 525 The Hill Wife II 530 The Runaway II 531 Vachel Lindsay Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight II 536 Simon Legree — A Negro Sermon II 540 John Brown II 541 How Samson Bore away the Gates of Gaza II 542 Edgar Lee Masters Spoon River Anthology: Robert Fulton Tanner. Benjamin Pantier Mrs. Benjamin Pantier. Daisy Fraser Doctor Meyers I Mrs. Meyers I Knowlt Hoheimer J Doc Hill 547 Petit, the Poet II 549 547 Washington McNeely II 549 547 Thomas Rhodes II 549 548 Editor Whedon II 550 548 Seth Compton II 550 548 Perry ZoU II 550 548 Archibald Higbie II 550 548 Anne Rutledge II 551 Fiddler Jones II 549 Rutherford McDowell II 551 Lucinda Matlock II 551 Slip Shoe Lovey II 55^ T Christmas at Indian Point II 552 Mournin' for Religion II 553 The New Spoon River: Ezra Fink II 554 Thomas MacCracken II 555 Dick Sapper II 554 Henry Rabeneau II 555 Sarah Dewitt II 555 6. Elegy Bacon's Epitaph I I Philip Freneau To the Memory of the Brave Americans I 191 The Indian Burying Ground I 198 Edgar Allan Poe To Helen I 524 Annabel Lee I 533 The Sleeper I 526 To One in Paradise I 538 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The Warden of the Cinque Ports I 593 John Greenleaf Whittier Telling the Bees I 606 Walt Whitman When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed II 105 O Captain ! My Captain ! II no CONTENTS BY TYPES xxv Vachel Lindsay ^^^^ ^^^^ The Proud P\armcr II 537 Edgar Lee Masjers The Hill 11 546 Father Malloy II 551 Son7ict Edgar Allan Poe Sonnet — To Science I 5^4 Henry Wadsvvorth Longfellow Divina Commedia: I, II, III I 596 Divina Commedia: IV, V, VI I 597 Giotto's Tower I 597 James Russell Lowell Sonnets: HI, VI, XXV I 651 John Banister Tabb Shadows II 276 Edwin Arlington Robinson The Growth of "Lorraine": I, II.. II 419 Inferential II 420 Firelight II 420 Vain Gratuities II 421 George Santayana Sonnets: III, XLII II 453 Edgar Lee Masters On a Death Mask: I II 555 On a Death Mask: II, III, IV. .. . II 556 Ode Philip Freneau Ode I 198 On the Anniversary of the Storming of the Bastille I 199 The Republican Genius of Europe I 200 Ralph Waldo Emerson Concord Hymn I 293 Ode, Inscribed to W. H. Channing I 298 Ode Sung in the Town Hall, Concord I 301 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Hymn to the Night I 589 John Greenleaf Whittier Laus Deo ! I 607 Oliver Wendell Holmes Old Ironsides I 617 James Russell Lowell Ode Recited at the Harvard Commemoration I 684 Sidney Lanier The Symphony II 270 George Santayana Ode II II 454 Free Verse Walt Whitman Shut Not Your Doors II 41 Poets to Come II 41 Starting from Paumanok II 41 Song of Myself II 48 One Hour to Madness and Joy II 82 Whoever You are Holding Me Now in Hand II 83 Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances II 84 The Base of All Metaphysics II 84 Recorders Ages Hence II 85 I Hear it was Charged against Me II 85 When I Peruse the Conquered Fame II 85 No Labor-Saving Machine II 86 Song of the Open Road II 86 Crossing Brooklyn Ferry II 92 Pioneers ! O Pioneers ! II 95 Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking II 98 xxvi CONTENTS BY TYPES PART PAGE Tears II 102 On the Rcncli at Night II 102 When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer II 103 Thought (Of obedience, faith, adhesiveness) II 103 Come up from the Fields Father H 103 As I Lay with my Head in your Lap Camerado II 104 When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed II 105 O Captain! My Captain! II no There was a Child Went Forth II no Who Learns my Lesson Complete? II m W' hispers of Heavenly Death II 112 Stephen Crane The Black Riders and Other Lines: I II 350 XX II 350 III II 350 XXIV II 350 VII II 350 XXX II 351 IX II 350 XLIV II 351 XI II 350 XLV II 35T XVII II 350 XLVIII II 351 War is Kind: I II 351 XIV II 352 IV II 351 XV II 352 XIII II 351 XXII II 352 Amy Lowell Guns as Keys: And the Great Gate Swings II 510 Edgar Lee Masters Spoon River Anthology: The Hill II 546 Petit, the Poet II 549 Robert Fulton Tanner II 547 Washington McNeely II 549 Benjamin Pantier II 547 Thomas Rhodes II 549 Mrs. Benjamin Pantier II 547 Editor Whedon II 550 Daisy Eraser II 548 Seth Compton II 550 Doctor Meyers II 548 Perry Zoll II 550 Mrs. Meyers II 548 Archibald Higbie II 550 Knowlt Hoheimer II 548 Father Malloy II 551 Doc Hill II 548 Anne Rutledge II 551 Fiddler Jones II 549 Rutherford McDowell II 551 Lucinda Matlock II 551 The New Spoon River: Ezra Fink II 554 Thomas MacCracken II 555 Dick Sapper II 554 Henry Rabeneau II 555 Sarah Dewitt II 555 10. Light and Humorous Oliver Wendell Holmes The Height of the Ridiculous I 617 Album Verses I 629 My Aunt I 618 Latter-Day Warnings I 632 The Last Leaf c I 619 Prologue (This is It) I 640 The Poet's Lot I 619 Ode for a Social Meeting I 641 On Lending a Punch-Bowl I 620 .Estivation I 647 Contentment I 649 Emily Dickinson I'm Nobody n 153 Vachel Lindsay John L. Sullivan, the Strong Boy of Boston II 539 1 1 . Miscellaneous William Cullen Bryant The Poet I 253 Ralph Waldo Emerson Fable I 297 ToJ. W I 297 Forbearance I 297 Days I 301 CONTENTS BY TYPES xxvli Edgar Allan Poe part page The City in the Sea I 525 The Bells I 530 The Raven I 527 Eldorado I 531 Ulalume I 529 The Conqueror Worm I 542 The Haunted Palace I 552 Nathaniel Parker Willis Unseen Spirits I 578 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The Day is Done I 580 The Arsenal at Springfield I 591 Footsteps of Angels I 589 Nuremberg I 591 The Slave's Dream I 590 Catawba Wine I 594 John Greenleaf Whittier The Moral Warfare I 599 Forgiveness I 599 Oliver Wendell Holmes A Parting Health (To J. L. Motley) I 632 Sun and Shadow I 638 James Russell Lowell The Washers of j:he Shroud I (y-jG An Ember Picture I 689 Emily Dickinson This is my Letter H 153 I Like to See it Lap the Miles II 153 I Meant to Have but Modest Needs II 153 It Dropped so Low in my Regard . . II 154 I've Seen a Dying Eye II 155 John Banister Tabb A Bunch of Roses II 276 An Interview II 276 Robert Frost In Neglect II 522 VI. DIDACTIC VERSE William Cullen Bryant Thanatopsis I 245 The Poet I 253 Ralph Waldo Emerson Fable I 297 Destiny I 298 To J. W I 297 Give All to Love I 299 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow A Psalm of Life I 589 VII. SATIRE Philip Freneau The Political Balance I 191 John Greenleaf Whittier Ichabod I 600 James Russell Lowell The Biglow Papers, First Series: No. I I 653 No. VI I 658 No. Ill I 656 A Fable for Critics I 660 Edgar Lee Masters Spoon River Anthology II 546 VIII. PHILOSOPHICAL PROSE John Wise Vindication of the Government of New England Churches I 22 Jonathan Edwards The Mind : Excellency I Notes on Natural Science: Of the Prejudices of the Imagination I Of Being I Things to be Considered, Second Series, 47 I 37 41 42 45 XXVlll CONTENTS BY TYPES Thomas Paine Common Sense Thomas Jkffkrson The Declaration of Independence. . I 159 First Inaugural Address Alexander Hamilton The Federalist: XV. The Insufficiency of the Present Confederation to Preserve the Union. . XVI, The Same Suhject Continued XXIII, The Necessity of a Government as Energetic as the One Proposed to the Preservation of the Union LXX. The Executive Department Further Considered John Caldwell Calhoun A Disquisition on Government , Ralph Waldo Emerson Nature (1836) I 302 The Over-Soul Self-Reliance I 331 Politics , Henry David Thoreau Life without Principle I 420 part page 142 162 168 172 175 177 275 344 352 IX. ORATION Thomas Jefferson First Inaugural Address Ralph Waldo Emerson The American Scholar Abraham Lincoln Cooper Union Speech I Second Inaugural Address. 721 The Gettysburg Address. I 737 I 162 I 322 I 'J-J.Cy X. SERMON Jonathan Edwards The Christian Pilgrim Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God I 53 I 60 I I 572 The Poetic Principle 660 Thoreau XL ESSAY I, Criticism Washington Irving The Sketch Book: English Writers on America Edgar Allan Poe Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales... Ja.mes Russell Lowell A Fable for Critics Walt Whitman Preface to Leaves of Grass, 1855 A Backward Glance o'er Traveled Roads William Dean Howells Criticism and Fiction: II IV XV William Crary Brownell Cooper John Jay Chap.man Emerson George Santayana The Poetry of Barbarism Paul Elmer More Lafcadio Hearn II 471 The New Morality The Spirit and Poetry of Early New England II 487 II II II 201 204 205 XVIII. XIX.. XXII. I 204 I 576 I 700 [I 113 [I 120 II 206 II 209 II 211 II 360 [I 422 n 454 II 479 CONTENTS BY TYPES xxlx Miscdlaneous P-^RT page Bknjamin Franklin The Way to Wealth I 114 John Dickinson Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania: Letter I Letter XI St. John de Crevecceur Letters from an American Farmer: Letter IIL What is an American? Thomas Jefferson Character of Washington Washington Irving The Sketch Book: The Author's Account of Himself Rural Life in England John Bull The Alhambra: Palace of the Alhambra Important Negotiations The Hall of Ambassadors The Court of Lions Ralph Waldo Emerson The American Scholar I 322 Politics Self-Reliance I 331 Napoleon The Over-Soul I 344 Considerations by the Way Henry David Thoreau Walden: II. Where I Lived, and What I Lived for III. Reading IV. Sounds V. Solitude VII. The Bean-Field XI. Higher Laws XII. Brute Neighbors Life without Principle Oliver Wendell Holmes The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table : I II XI James Russell Lowell Leaves from my Journal in Italy and Elsewhere: IV. A Few Bits of Roman Mosaic On a Certain Condescension in Foreigners Abraham Lincoln Message to Congress in Special Session John Muir The Mountains of California: III. The Snow I IV. A Near View of the High Sierra I Lafcadio Hearn , Fuji-no-Yama II 289 A Question in the Zen Texts II 298 Of Moon-Desire II 300 119 121 128 164 202 208 211 216 222 223 225 352 358 368 380 388 393 400 404 409 414 420 623 633 642 690 707 728 186 190 XII. LETTER Abraham Lincoln Letter to Mrs. Bixby I 736 XIII. HISTORY Cotton Mather Magnalia Christ! Americana: Life of John Winthrop I 4 Thaumatographia Pneumatica I 14 XXX CONTENTS BY TYPES Wii.i.iAM Hick 1,1 Nc; Prkscott part page History ot tlu" Conquest of Peru, Hook HI: Chap. HI I 256 <^'liap. IV I 258 Chap. V : I 266 John Lothrop Motley The Rise of the Dutch Republic: Part II, Administration of the Ducness Margaret: Chap. I I 740 Francis Parkman The Jesuits in North America in the Seventeeinh Century: Chap. XVI, Isaac Jogues II 130 Chap. XVII, The Iroquois II 139 Chap. XXII, Priest and Puritan II 143 Chap. XXIV, The Huron Church II 147 Henry Adams History of the United States of America during the Administrations of Jefferson and Madison, Vol. I: Chap. II, Popular Characteristics II 244 Chap. VI, American Ideals II 255 45 XIV. BIOGRAPHY Cotton Mather Life of John Winthrop , I Jonathan Edwards Sarah Pierrepont I 45 Personal Narrative I Benjamin Franklin Autobiography I 70 Mark Twain Life on the Mississippi: Chap. IV, The Boys' Ambition II 172 Chap. XVIII, I Take a Few Extra Lessons II 174 Chap. XIX, Brown and I Exchange Compliments II 177 Chap. XX, A Catastrophe II 179 Chap. XXI, A Section in my Biography II 181 Chap. L, The "Original Jacobs" II 182 Chap. LX, Speculations and Conclusions II 183 The Mask of the Red Death The Purloined Letter The Cask of Amontillado. . . XV. PROSE FICTION Washington Irving The Alhambra: Legend of the Arabian Astrologer Legend of the Two Discreet Statues Nathaniel Hawthorne The Scarlet Letter .* Edgar Allan Poe The Assignation I 533 Ligeia I 539 The Fall of the House of Usher I 547 Herman Melville Moby Dick; or. The White Whale: Chap. XXXVI, The Quarter-Deck I Chap. XXXVII, Sunset I Chap. XXXVIII, Dusk I Chap. XXXIX, First Night-Watch I Chap. XL, Midnight, Forecastle I Chap. XLI, Moby Dick I Chap. LXXXV, The Fountain I Chap. XCVI, The Try-Works I Chap. CXXXII, The Symphony I Chap. CXXXIII, The Chase— First Day I 227 235 433 557 560 569 3 7 7 8 8 II 16 19 21 23 CONTENTS BY TYPES XXXI Chap. CXXXIV, The Chase-Second Day Chap. CXXXV, The Chase-Third Day. . Epilogue Bret Harte Mli iiss Henry James The Death of the Lion II George Washington Cable Belles Demoiselles Plantation Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Louisa ;i4 The Special Type. Stephen Crane A Mystery of Heroism H 352 Passage from A Gray Sleeve O. Henry A Lickpenny Lover H 387 The Roads We Take The Furnished Room H 392 Edith Wharton The Pelican Theodore Dreiser The Second Choice Sherwood Anderson A Man of Ideas II 558 "Queer" Drink II 566 part page 27 32 37 157 233 279 303 357 390 396 498 562 AMERICAN LITERATURE PART I FROM THE BEGINNINGS TO LINCOLN AND MOTLEY BACON'S EPITAPH The governor of Virginia in the third quarter of the seventeenth century, Sir William Berkeley, was a high-handed autocrat whose character is well illustrated in his reply to the Commissioners of Plantations (1671) when they asked: "What course is taken about the instructing the people within your government in the Christian religion?" Berkeley answered: "The same course that is taken in England out of towns, every man according to his ability instructing his children. We have forty-eight parishes, and our ministers are well paid, and by my consent should be better if they would pray ojtener and preach less. But of all other commodities, so of this, the worst are sent us, and we had few that we could boast of, since the persecution in Cromwell's tyranny drove divers worthy men hither. But, I thank God, there are no free schools nor printingy and I hope we shall not have these hundred years; for learning has brought disobedience, and heresy, and sects into the world, and printing has divulged them, and libels against the best government. God keep us from both!" Berkeley's almost absolute power was exerted in favor of wealthy land-owners, and justly aroused popular discontent. Nathaniel Bacon, a young planter on the western frontier of Virginia, was in 1676 suddenly elevated by events and the action of the governor into the position of a popular leader. In that year his plantation was attacked by Indians, who killed one of his men. He at once led a successful expedition against the Indians, but was at the same time practically denounced a rebel by Berkeley, for assuming military command without authority. This was the beginning of what is usually called "Bacon's Rebellion." (The best modern account is in H. L. Osgood's American Colonies in the Seventeenth Century, III, Chap. viii.) It provoked a popular outcry and led to important but abortive political reforms. Bacon assumed the character of a revolutionary leader, was on the whole successful, and, possibly, began to entertain the notion of forming Virginia, Maryland, and Carolina into an independent commonwealth. But, before the close of 1676, he was stricken with illness which caused his death, after which the "rebellion" quickly subsided. The Burwell Papers, so called because the manuscript was owned by the Burwell family in the early part of the nineteenth century, contain an account of Bacon's Rebellion by an unknown hand. The writer probably composed his narrative not long after 1676, and he wrote in sympathy with Berkeley. In recounting the manner of Bacon's death he quoted "a cuple" of poems written upon the event, one of which is the Epitaph printed below. All that we know concerning its author is contained in this introductory sentence: "After he was dead he was bemoned in these following lines (drawne by the Man that waited upon his person, as it is said) and who attended his Corps to there Buriall place." Whoever the author, he was a genuine poet and, probably, a discerning student of Ben Jonson. He "produced what is perhaps the one real American poem of the seventeenth century." (S. M. Tucker, Canib. Hist. Am. Lit., I, 150.) For other American verse written before the time of Philip Freneau, Mr, P. E. More has said, with disarming sympathy, all that can be said, in his essay entitled The Spirit and Poetry of Early New England (reprinted in the second part of this work). Briefly, there was no American poet save " Bacon's Man" before the latter half of the eighteenth century. The Epitaph was first printed in the Collections of the Massachusetts Historical Society in 1814. The copy then used was inaccurate. It was again printed, from the manuscript, in the Proceedings of the same Society in 1866, and the present reprint follows this text, save for the correction of one or two obvious slips. Punctuation, however, has been modernized. Death, why so crewill .? What, no other way To manifest thy splleene but thus to slay Our hopes of safety, liberty, our all Which, through thy tyrany, with him must fall To its late Caoss? Had thy rlged force Bin delt by retale, and not thus in gross, Griefe had bin silent. Now, wee must com- plaine. Since thou in him hast more then thousand slane, Whose lives and safetys did so much depend On him there^ lif, with him there lives must end. 10 If 't be a sin to thlnke Death brlb'd can bee, Wee must be guilty — say twas bribery 1 Their (as also ebewhere in the poem). I^'XCON'S KPITAPII (iiiidicl tin- fatnll shiift. Vcrn;ini.-is foes, 10 whom for scent crimes just vengance owes Disarved pla Mao, Prcrf.) That which is to be drawn from man's reason, flowing from the true current of that faculty, when unperverted, may be said to be the law of nature, on which account the Holy Scriptures declare it written on men's hearts. For being endowed with a soul, you may know from yourself how and what you ought to act {Romans, 2. 14): "These having not a law, are a law^ to themselves." So that the meaning is, when we acknowledge the law of nature to be the dictate of right reason, we must mean that the understanding of man is endowed with such a power as to be able, from the contemplation of human con- dition, to discover a necessity of living agree- ably with this law, and likewise to find out some principle by which the precepts of it may be clearly and solidly demonstrated. The way to discover the law of nature in our own state is by a narrow w^atch and accurate contemplation of our natural condition and propensions. Others say this is the w^ay to find out the law of nature; scil., if a man any ways doubts w^hether what he is going to do to another man be agreeable to the law of nature, then let him suppose himself to be in that other man's room, and by this rule effectually executed. A man must be a very dull scholar to nature not to make proficiency in the knowledge of her laws. But more particularly in pursuing our con- dition for the discovery of the law of nature, this is very obvious to view, viz.: 1. A principle of self-love and self-preser- vation is very predominant in every man's being. 2. A sociable disposition. 3. An affection or love to mankind in general. And, to give such sentiments the force of a law, we must suppose a God w^ho takes care of all mankind, and has thus obliged each one, as a subject of higher principles of being than mere instincts. For that all law, properly considered, supposes a capable subject and a superior power, and the law of God which is binding, is published by the dictates of right reason as other ways. Therefore, says Plutarch, "to follow God and obey reason is the same thing." But, more- over, that (jod has established the law of nature as the general rule of government is further illustrable from the many sanctions in providence, and from the peace and guilt of conscience in them that either obey or violate the law of nature. But, moreover, the foundation of the law of nature with relation to government may be thus dis- covered, scil.: Man is a creature extremely desirous of his own preservation; of himself he is plainly exposed to many wants, unable to secure his ow^n safety and maintenance without assistance of his fellows; and he is also able of returning kindness by the further- ance of mutual good; but yet man is often found to be malicious, insolent, and easily provoked, and as powerful in effecting mis- chief as he is ready in designing it. Now that such a creature may be preserved, it is necessary that he be sociable; that is, that he be capable and disposed to unite himself to those of his own species, and to regulate himself towards them, that they may have no fair reason to do him harm, but rather incline to promote his interests and secure his rights and concerns. This, then, is a fundamental law of nature, that every man, as far as in him lies, do maintain a sociable- ness with others, agreeable with the main end and disposition of human nature in general. For this is very apparent, that reason and society render man the most potent of all creatures. And finally, from the principles of sociableness it foUow^s as a fundamental law of nature, that man is not so wedded to his own interest but that he can make the common good the mark of his aim. And hence he becomes capacitated to enter into a civil state by the law of nature; for without this property in nature, ;:'{::., Sociableness, which is for cementing of parts, every government would soon molder and dissolve. The second great immunity of man is an original liberty instamped upon his rational nature. He that intrudes upon this liberty violates the law of nature. In this discourse I shall waive the consideration of man's moral turpitude, but shall view him physi- cally as a creature which God has made and furnished essentially wnth many ennobling immunities, which render him the most VINDICATION OF GOVERNMENT OF NEW ENGLAND CHURCHES 25 august "animal in the world; and still, what- ever has happened since his creation, he remains at the upper end of nature, and as such is a creature of a very noble character. For as to his dominion, the whole frame of the lower part of the universe is devoted to his use and at his command; and his liberty under the conduct of right reason is equal with his trust. Which liberty may be briefly considered, internally as to his mind, and externally as to his person. The native liberty of man's nature implies a faculty of doing or omitting things accord- ing to the direction of his judgment. But in a more special meaning this liberty does not consist in a loose and ungovernable freedom or in an unbounded license of acting. Such license is disagreeing with the con- dition and dignity of man, and would make man of a lower and meaner constitution than brute creatures, who in all their liberties are kept under a better and more rational gov- ernment by their instincts. Therefore, as Plutarch says, "Those persons only who live in obedience to reason are worthy to be accounted free; they alone live as they will who have learned what they ought to will." So that the true natural liberty of man, such as really and truly agrees to him, must be understood, as he is guided and restrained by the ties of reason and laws of nature. All the rest is brutal, if not worse. Man's external personal, natural liberty, antecedent to all human parts or alliances, must also be considered. And so every man must be conceived to be perfectly in his own power and disposal, and not to be controlled by the authority of any other. And thus every man must be acknowledged equal to every man, since all subjection and all com- mand are equally banished on both sides; and, considering all men thus at liberty, every man has a prerogative to judge for himself, viz.y what shall be most for his behoof, happiness, and well-being. The third capital immunity belonging to man's nature is an equality amongst men, which is not to be denied by the law of nature, till man has resigned himself with all his rights for the sake of a civil state, and then his personal liberty and equality is to be cherished and preserved to the highest degree as will consist with all just distinctions amongst men of honor, and shall be agreeable with the public good. For man has a high valuation of himself, and the passion seems to lay its first foundation, not in pride, but really in the high and admirable frame and constitution of human nature. The word man, says my author, is thought to carry somewhat of dignity in its sound; and we commonly make use of this as the most proper and prevailing argument against a rude insulter, viz.y "I am not a beast or a dog, but am a man as well as yourself." Since, then, human nature agrees equally with all persons, and since no one can live a sociable life with another that does not own or respect him as a man, it follows, as a command of the law of nature, that every man esteem and treat another as one who is naturally his equal, or who is a man as well as he. There be many popular or plausible reasons that greatly illustrate this equality, viz. J that we all derive our being from one stock, the same common father of tthe] human race. On this consideration Boethius checks the pride of the insulting nobility. Quid genus et proavos strepitis? Si primordia vestra Auctoremque deum spectes, nullus degener exstaty Ni vitiis peiora f ovens proprium deserat ortum.^ Fondly our first descent we boast; If whence at first our breath we drew, The common springs of life we view, The airy notion soon is lost. The Almighty made us equal all; But he that slavishly complies To do the drudgery of vice Denies his high original. And also that our bodies are composed of matter, frail, brittle, and liable to be de- stroyed by thousand accidents; we all owe our existence to the same method of propaga- tion. The noblest mortal in his entrance on the stage of life is not distinguished by any pomp, or of passage from the lowest of man- kind, and our life hastens to the same general mark. Death observes no ceremony, but knocks as loud at the barriers of the court as at the door of the cottage. This equality being admitted bears a very great force in maintaining peace and friendship amongst men. For that he who would use the assist- ance of others in promoting his own ad- vantage ought as freely to be at their service 1 Consolat. Philosoph.y Bk. Ill, vi. Quoted inex* actly by Wise, but corrected above. 26 JOHN wisK wlun tliov w.iiit Ins help on tlic like occa- sions. "Onc^ood turn re(iuires another," is the common proverb; for otherwise he must need esteem others ime(|iial to himself who constantly demands their aid and as con- stantly denies his own. And whoever is of this insolent temper cannot hut hij^;hly dis- please those about hnn, and soon j^ive occasion of the breach of the common peace. It was a manly reproof which Caractacus' gave the Romans: Num si vos omnibus, etc. What! because you desire to be masters of all men, does it follow there- fore that all men should desire to be your slaves, for that it is a command of nature's law that no man that has not obtained a particular and special right shall arrogate to himself a larger share than his fellows, but shall admit others to equal privileges with himself. So that the principle of equality in a natural state is peculiarly transgressed by pride, which is, when a man without suffi- cient reason prefers himself to others. And though as Hensius^ paraphrases upon Aris- totle's Politics to this purpose, viz.: "Nothing is more suitable to nature than that those who excel in understanding and prudence should rule and control those who are less happy in those advantages," etc. Yet we must note that there is room for an answer, scil.y that it would be the greatest absurdity to believe that nature actually invests the wise with a sovereignty over the weak, or with a right of forcing them against their wills; for that no sovereignty can be established, unless some human deed or covenant precede. Nor does natural fitness for government make a man presently governor over another; for that, as Ulpian' says, ''by a natural right all men are born free.'' And nature having set all men upon a level and made them equals, no servitude or subjection can be conceived without inequality; and this cannot be made without usurpation or force in others, or voluntary compliance in those who resign their freedom and give away their degree of natural being. And thus we come, 1 Flourished (in England) a.d. 50. He resisted the Romans for about nine years, but was finally delivered into their hands and taken to Rome. 2 Daniel Heinsius (i 580-1655). Dutch classical philologer. 3 Roman jurist, flourished a.d. 200. To consider man in a civil state of being, wherein we shall observe the great difference between a natural and political state; for in the latter state many great dispropor- tions appear, or at least many obvious distinctions are soon made amongst men, which doctrine is to be laid open under a few heads. Kvery man, considered in a natural state, must be allowed to be free and at his own dispose; yet to suit man's inclinations to society, and in a peculiar manner to gratify the necessity he is in of public rule and order, he is impelled to enter into a civil com- munity, and divests himself of his natural freedom, and puts himself under government, which, amongst other things, comprehends the power of life and death over him, together with authority to enjoin him some things to which he has an utter aversion, and to prohibit him other things for which he may have as strong an inclination, so that he may be often, under this authority, obliged to sacrifice his private for the public good; so that, though man is inclined to society, yet he is driven to a combination by great necessity. For that the true and lead- ing cause of forming governments and yield- ing up natural liberty, and throwing man's equality into a common pile to be new cast by the rules of fellowship, was really and truly to guard themselves against the in- juries men were liable to interchangeably; for none so good to man as man, and yet none a greater enemy. So that, The first human subject and original of civil power is the people. For as they have a power every man over himself in a natural state, so upon a combination they can and do bequeath this power unto others, and settle it according as their united discretion shall determine. For that this is very plain, that when the subject of sovereign power is quite extinct, that power returns to the people again. And when they are free, they may set up what species of government they please; or, if they rather incline to it, they may subside into a state of natural being, if it be plainly for the best. In the Eastern country of the Mogul we have some resemblance of the case, for upon the death of an absolute monarch they live so many days without a civil head; but in that interregnum those who survive the vacancy VINDICATION OF GOVERNMENT OF NEW ENGLAND CHURCHES 27 are glad to get into a civil state again, and usually they are in a very bloody condition when they return under the covert of a new monarch. This project is to endear the people to a tyranny, from the experience they have so lately had of an anarchy. The formal reason of government is the will of a community yielded up and sur- rendered to some other subject, either of one particular person, or more, conveyed in the following manner. Let us conceive in our mind a multitude of men, all naturally free and equal, going about voluntarily to erect themselves into a new commonwealth. Now their condition being such, to bring themselves into a politic body they must needs enter into divers covenants. They must interchangeably each man covenant to join in one lasting society, that they may be capable to concert the measures of their safety by a public vote. A vote or decree must then nextly pass to set up some particular species of government over them. And if they are joined in their first compact upon absolute terms to stand to the decision of the first vote concerning the species of government, then all are bound by the majority to acquiesce in that particu- lar form thereby settled, though their own private opinion incline them to some other model. After a decree has specified the particular form of government, then there will be need of a new covenant, whereby those on whom sovereignty is conferred engage to take care of the common peace and welfare; and the subjects, on the other hand, to yield them faithful obedience. In which covenant is included that submission and union of wills by which a state may be conceived to be but one person. So that the most proper defi- nition of a civil state is this, viz.: A civil state is a compound moral person, whose will (united by those covenants before passed) is the will of all, to the end it may use and apply the strength and riches of private persons towards maintaining the common peace, security, and well-being of all, which may be conceived as though the whole state was now become but one man; in which the aforesaid covenants may be supposed under God's providence to be the divine fiat pro- nounced by God: "Let us make man.'* And by way of resemblance the aforesaid being may be thus anatomized: 1. The sovereign power is the soul infused, giving life and motion to the whole body. 2. Subordinate oflRcers are the joints by which the body moves. 3. Wealth and riches are the strength. 4. Equity and laws are the reason. 5. Councilors the memory. 6. Salus Populi, or the happiness of the people, is the end of its being, or main busi- ness to be attended and done. 7. Concord amongst the members and all estates is the health. 8. Sedition is sickness, and civil war death. The parts of sovereignty may be con- sidered so, 1. As it prescribes the rule of action, it is rightly termed legislative power. 2. As it determines the controversies of subjects by the standard of those rules, so is it justly termed judiciary power. 3. As it arms the subjects against foreigners or forbids hostility, so it's called the power of peace and war. 4. As it takes in ministers for the discharge of business, so it is called the right of appoint- ing magistrates. So that all great officers and public servants must needs owe their original to the creating power of sovereignty; so that those whose right it is to create may dissolve the being of those who are created, unless they cast them into an immortal frame, and yet must needs be dissoluble if they justly forfeit their being to their creators. 5. The chief end of civil communities is that men thus conjoined may be secured against the injuries they are liable to from their own kind. For, if every man could secure himself singly, it would be great folly for him to renounce his natural liberty, in which every man is his own king and pro- tector. 6. The sovereign authority, besides that it inheres in every state as in a common and general subject, so farther according as it resides in some one person, or in a council (consisting of some select persons, or of all the members of a community) as in a proper and particular subject, so it produceth dif- ferent forms of commonwealths, m., such as are either simple and regular, or mixed. 28 JOHN WISE The forms of a regular state are three only, which forms arise from the proper and particular subject in which the supreme power resides. As, A democracy, which is when the sovereign power is lodged in a council consisting of all the members, and where every member has the privilege of a vote. This form of govern- ment appears in the greatest part of the world to have been the most ancient. For that reason seems to show it to be most probable that, when men (being originally in a condition of natural freedom and equality) had thoughts of joining in a civil body, would without question be inclirted to administer their common affairs by their common judgment, and so must necessarily, to gratify that inclination, establish a democracy. Neither can it be rationally imagined that fathers of families, being yet free and independent, should in a moment or little time take off their long delight in governing their own affairs, and devolve all upon some single sovereign commander; for that it seems to have been thought more equitable that what belonged to all should be managed by all, when all had entered by compact into one community. The original of our government, says Plato (speaking of the Athenian commonwealth), was taken from the equality of our race. Other states there are composed of different blood, and of unequal lines, the consequences of which are disproportionable sovereignty, tyrannical or oligarchical sway, under which men live in such a manner as to esteem themselves partly lords and partly slaves to each other. But we and our countrymen, being all born brethren of the same mother, do not look upon ourselves to stand under so hard a relation as that of lords and slaves; but the parity of our descent inclines us to keep up the like parity by our laws, and to yield the precedency to nothing but to superior virtue and wisdom. And, more- over, it seems very manifest that most civil communities arose at first from the union of families that w^ere nearly allied in race and blood; and though ancient story makes frequent mention of kings, yet it appears that most of them were such that had an influence rather in persuading than in any power of commanding. So Justin describes that kind of government as the most primi- tive, which Aristotle styles an heroical kingdom, viz., such as is no ways inconsistent with a democratical state. {De Princip. Rem. I, L. I, C.) A democracy is then erected, when a num- ber of free persons do assemble together in order to enter into a covenant for uniting themselves in a body; and such a preparative assembly hath some appearance already of a democracy; it is a democracy in embryo, properly in this respect, that every man hath the privilege freely to deliver his opinion concerning the common affairs. Yet he who dissents from the vote of the majority is not in the least obliged by what they determine, till by a second covenant a popular form be actually established; for not before then can we call it a democratical government, viz.y till the right of determining all matters relating to the public safety is actually placed in a general assembly of the whole people; or by their own compact and mutual agree- ment determine themselves the proper sub- ject for the exercise of sovereign power. And to complete this state, and render it capable to exert its power to answer the end of a civil state, these conditions are neces- sary: 1. That a certain time and place be assigned for assembling. 2. That when the assembly be orderly met, as to time and place, that then the vote of the majority must pass for the vote of the whole body. 3. That magistrates be appointed to exer- cise the authority of the whole for the better dispatch of business of every day's occur- rence, who also may, with more mature diligence, search into more important affairs; and if in case any thing happens of greater consequence, may report it to the assembly; and be peculiarly serviceable in putting all public decrees into execution. Because a large body of people is almost useless in respect of the last service, and of many others as to the more particular application and exercise of power. Therefore it is most agreeable w^ith the law of nature that they institute their officers to act in their name and stead. The second species of regular government is an aristocracy, and this is said then to be constituted when the people or assembly, united by a first covenant, and having VINDICATION OF GOVERNMENT OF NEW ENGLAND CHURCHES 29 thereby cast themselves into the first rudi- ments of a state, do then by common decree devolve the sovereign power on a council consisting of some select members; and these, having accepted of the designation, are then properly invested with sovereign command; and then an aristocracy is formed. The third species of a regular government is a monarchy, which is settled when the sovereign power is conferred on some one worthy person. It differs from the former, because a monarch who is but one person in natural, as well as in moral, account, and so is furnished with an immediate power of exercising sovereign command in all instances of government; but the forenamed must needs have particular time and place assigned; but the power and authority is equal m each. Mixed governments, which are various and of divers kinds (not now to be enumer- ated), yet possibly the fairest in the world is that which has a regular monarchy, settled upon a noble democracy as its basis; and each part of the government is so adjusted by pacts and laws that render the whole constitution an elysium. It is said of the British empire that it is such a mon- archy as that, by the necessary subordinate concurrence of the lords and commons in the making and repealing all statutes or acts of parliament, it hath the main advantages of an aristocracy and of a democracy, and yet free from the disadvantages and evils of either. It is such a monarchy as, by most admirable temperament, affords very much to the industry, liberty, and happiness of the subject, and reserves enough for the majesty and prerogative of any king who will own his people as subjects, not as slaves. It is a kingdom that, of all the kingdoms of the world, is most like to the kingdom of Jesus Christ, whose yoke is easy, and burden light. [Present State of England^ 1st part, 64th p.) * * * I shall now make some improvement of the foregoing principles of civil knowledge, fairly deduced from the law of nature. And I shall peculiarly refer to ecclesiastical affairs, whereby we may in probability dis- cover more clearly the kind and something of the nature of that government which Christ has placed in and over his church. The learned debates of men, and Divine Writ sometimes, seem to cast such a grandeur on the church and its officers, as though they stood in peerage with civil empire. (Revela- tion, I. 6, 9. / Peter, 2. 9. / CorinthianSy 4. 8. / Corinthians, 12. 28. // Corinthi- ans, 10. 8.) But all such expressions must needs be other ways interpreted. God is the highest cause that acts by council; and it must needs be altogether repugnant to think he should forecast the state of this world by no better a scheme than to order two sovereign powers in the same grand com- munity, which would be to set the universe into a flame: That should such an error happen, one must needs be forthwith ex- tinguished, to bring the frame of nature into a just temper and keep it out of harm's way. But, to proceed with my purpose, I shall go back upon the civil scheme and inquire after two things : First of rebellion against govern- ment in general; and then in special whether any of the aforesaid species of regular govern- ment can be predicable of the church of God on earth. In general concerning rebellion against government, for particular subjects to break in upon regular communities duly estab- lished is from the premises to violate the law of nature, and is a high usurpation upon the first grand immunities of mankind. Such rebels in states, and usurpers in churches, affront the world with a pre- sumption that the best of the brotherhood are a company of fools, and that themselves have fairly monopolized all the reason of human nature. Yea, they take upon them the boldness to assume a prerogative of trampling under foot the natural original equality and liberty of their fellows; for to push the proprietors of settlements out of possession of their old, and impose new schemes upon them, is virtually to declare them in a state of vassalage, or that they were born so; and therefore, will the usurper be so gracious as to insure them they shall not be sold at the next market, they must esteem it a favor; for by this time all the original prerogatives of man's nature are intentionally a victim, smoking to satiate the usurper's ambition. It is a very tart observation on an English monarch, and, where it may by proportion be applied to a subject, must needs sink very deep and serve 30 JOHN WISE for evidence iiiuler this head. It is in the secret history of Klingl ClharlesI II and K[iniil Jlamesl II, p. 2, says my author: Where the constitution of a nation is such tliat the laws of the land are the measures both of the sovereign's commands and the obedience of the subjects, whereby it is provided that as the one are not to invade what by concessions and stipuhitions is granted to the ruler, so the other is not to deprive them of their lawful and determined rights and liberties, then the prince who strives to subvert the fundamental laws of the society is the traitor and the rebel, and not the people, who endeavor to preserve and defend their own. It's very applicable to particular men in their rebellions or usurpations in church or state. In special I shall now proceed to inquire whether any of the aforesaid species of regular, unmixed governments can with any show of reason be predicable of the church of Christ on earth. If the churches of Christ, as churches, are either the object or subject of a sovereign power intrusted in the hands of men, then most certainly one of the forecited schemes of a perfect government will be applicable to it. Before I pursue the inquiry it may not be improper to pause and make some caution here, by distinguishmg between that which may have some resemblance of civil power and the thing itself; and so the power of churches is but a faint resemblance of civil power. It comes in reality nothing near to the thing itself; for the one is truly co- ercive, the other persuasive; the one is sovereign power, the other is delegated and ministerial. But not to delay, I shall pro- ceed with my inquiry, and therein shall endeavor to humor the several great claimers of government in the church of Christ. And, I shall begin with a monarchy. It's certain his holiness, either by reasonable pleas or powerful cheats, has assumed an absolute and universal sovereignty. This fills his cathedral chair and is adorned with a triple crown; and in defense thereof [he] does protest: The Almighty has made him both key-keeper of heaven and hell, with the adjacent territories of purgatory, and vested in him an absolute sovereignty over the Christian v/orld. And his right has so far jirevailed that princes and civil monarchs hold their crowns and donations as his dutiful sons and loyal subjects, lie there- fore decks himself with the spoils of the divine attributes, styling himself our Lord God, optimum, viaximumy ei supremum numen in Terris;'^ a God on earth, a visible deity; and that his power is absolute and his wisdom infallible. And many of the great potentates of the earth have paid their fealty, as though it was really so. One of them clad in canvas, going barefoot in the depth of winter (in obedience to the decree, stinting the penance in proportion to the wickedness of princes), has waited many days for absolution at his pious gates. Another has thrown himself down prostrate a humble penitent before him. He has placed his holy foot on the monarch's pro- fane neck, as crushing a vermin crawling out of the stable of his sovereignty; and others frequently kiss his toes with very profound devotion. These and such like triumphant signals of his sovereign power does he wear. And indeed if he is the universal monarch of the Catholic Church, princes that are members of it must needs knock under, for that in one world there cannot possibly be two Most High's, any more than two Infinites. Thus you see the clergy or Gospel ministry of the Christian world have so wisely handled business and managed the Gospel that they have fairly (as they avouch) found a sovereign power bequeathed in it to the ministry of Christ, and, rummaging more warily and nicely, at last found a spiritual monarch very com- pletely furnished with the keys of all sorts of power hanging at his girdle. And may we not pronounce the wiser they! — seeing the world, growing weary of religion, was willing to loll itself down to sleep and leave them in sole trust with the whole interest of God's kingdom. But the sad inquiry is, whether this sort of government has not plainly sub- verted the design of the Gospel and the end for which Christ's government was ordained, m., the moral, spiritual, and eternal happi- ness of men \ But I have no occasion to pursue this remark with tedious demonstrations. It's very plain, it's written with blood in capital 1 I he best, greatest, and highest God in the world. VINDICATION OF GOVERNMENT OF NP:W ENGLAND CHIRCHES 31 letters, to be read at midnight by the flames of Smithfield^ and other such like conse- crated fires, that the government of this ecclesiastical monarch has, instead of sancti- fying, absolutely debauched the world and subverted all good Christianity in it. So that without the least show of any vain pre- sumption we may infer that God and wise nature were never propitious to the birth of this monster. An aristocracy which places the supreme power in a select company of choice persons: Here I freely acknowledge, were the Gospel ministry established the subject of this power, viz.y to will and do in all church affairs without control, etc.y this govern- ment might do to support the church in its most valuable rights, etc.^ if we could be assured they would make the Scripture, and not their private will, the rule of their personal and ministerial actions. And indeed upon these terms any species of gov- ernment might serve the great design of redemption. But considering how great an interest is embarked and how frail a bottom we trust, though we should rely upon the best of men, especially if we remember what is in the hearts of good men {viz.y much ignorance, abundance of small ends, many times cloaked with a high pretense in religion; pride skulking and often breeding revenge upon a small affront, and blown up by a pretended zeal, yet really and truly by nothing more divine than interest, or ill nature), and also considering how very uncertain we are of the real goodness of those we esteem good men, and also how impossible it is to secure the entail of it to successors, and also if we remind how Christianity by the foresaid principle has been peeled, robbed, and spoiled already, it cannot consist with the light of nature to venture again upon such perils, especially if we can find a safer way home. More distmctly, It is very plain (allowing me to speak emblematically) the primitive constitution of the churches was a democracy, as ap- pears by the foregoing parallel. But after the Christian churches were received into the favor of the imperial court, under the > London, north of St, Paul's Cathedral. The al- lusion is to its use in the time of Queen Mary for burning heretics at the stake. dominion of Constantine the Great, there being many preliminaries which had fur- nished the ministers with a disposition thereunto, they quickly deprived the fra- ternities of their rights in the government of the churches, when they were once provided of a plentiful maintenance through the liberality of Constantine; that when Chris- tianity was so luxuriantly treated, as by his great bounty and noble settlement, it is said there was a voice heard from heaven saying: "Now is poison poured into the church." But the subversion of the constitution is a story too long now to tell. Take therefore part of it, out of a late author well versed in antiquity, which may give some brief image of the whole: Non multa secula jus Plebis Illaesum Mansit, neque Aliter Evenire Potuit. Quin Illudy vel amittatury vel saltern diminua- tur^ etc. {De Ordina, Diss. Ilystorica, p. 36, 40, 41.) The right of the people did not remain unhurt through many ages, neither could it well be otherways but that it must be lost, or much diminished. Zonaras^ does confess that heretofore bishops were chosen by the suffrage of the people. But, many seditions happening amongst them, it was decreed that every bishop should hereafter be chosen by the authority of the bishops of every province. The cause seemed to be so very specious that nothing could be more decent or more conducive to the safety of the commonwealth. Yet (says my author) if you do well weigh the business you must needs acknowledge nothing could have happened more per- nicious or destructive to the church of God. For, soon after these things came to pass, it is very obvious that tyranny over the con- sciences of the faithful and an intolerable pride everywhere grew rampant amongst the guides of the church. Yet there was one thing still very needful to be done, and that was to establish or confirm the power which the metropolitans and bishops had acquired to themselves. Therefore they fell to it tooth and nail to drive away the fraternity from all interest in elections; and alas, poor hearts! they began to sleep with both ears, 2 Translated in the following sentence, in the new paragraph. 3 Byzantine chronicler and theologian, flourished in twelfth century. 32 JOHN WISE that then was scarce any enemy left to interrupt or control the conquerors. This was the manner of the clergy till they had made themselves the subjects of all power and then acted arbitrarily, and did what they pleased in the church of God. l^ut let the learned, knowing world con- sider what the issue of all this was, scil.y what a wretched capacity the drowsiness and cowardice of the people, and the usurpa- tion and ambition of the ministry, brought the professing world into. If those who were truly godly on both sides had in a few ages looked down from heaven, and had eyed the following centuries, they might have beheld a world of matter for sorrowful impressions; to think that they themselves had occasioned the ruin of millions by their remiss and passive temper in one sort, and too much humoring and nourishing pride, and high conceits of themselves and others, in the other; when as if they had stood firm to the government as left settled by the apostles, they had certainly prevented an apostasy that has damned and confounded a great part of about thirty generations of men, women, and children. That for my own part I can upon experience in some measure truly say (to the history of the primitive churches in the loss of their government and the consequences which followed, when I am impelled to repeat it to myself) as one JEntas said to Queen Dido: Infandum, regina, jubes renovare dolorem. Quis talia fando Temper et a lacrimis! ^ So doleful a contemplation is it to think the world should be destroyed by those men who by God vv^ere ordained to save it! In a word, an aristocracy is a dangerous constitution in the church of Christ, as it possesses the presbytery of all church power. What has been observed sufficiently evinces it. And not only so but from the nature of the constitution, for it has no more barrier to it against the ambition, insults, and arbitrary measures of men, than an absolute monarchy. But to abbreviate: it seems most agreeable with the light of nature that if there be any of the regular governments settled in the church of God it must needs be, 1 Virgil, Mneid, Bk. II, 3, 6, 8. A democracy. This is a form of govern- ment which the light of nature does highly value, and often directs to as most agreeable to the just and natural prerogatives of human beings. This was of great account in the early times of the world. And not only so, but upon the experience of several thousand years, after the world had been tumbled and tossed from one species of government to another at a great expense of blood and treasure, many of the wise nations of the world have sheltered themselves under it again, or at least have blandished, and balanced their governments with it. It is certainly a great truth, sciL, that man's original liberty after it is resigned (yet under due restrictions) ought to be cherished in all wise governments, or otherwise a man, in making himself a subject, he alters him- self from a freeman into a slave, which to do is repugnant to the law of nature. Also the natural equality of men amongst men must be duly favored; in that government was never established by God or nature to give one man a prerogative to insult over another, therefore in a civil, as well as in a natural state of being, a just equality is to be in- dulged so far as that every man is bound to honor every man, which is agreeable both with nature and religion (/ Peter ^ 2. 17): "Honor all men." — The end of all govern- ment is to cultivate humanity and promote the happiness of all, and the good of every man in all his rights, his life, liberty, estate, honor, etc.^ without injury or abuse done to any. Then certainly it cannot easily be thought that a company of men, that shall enter into a voluntary compact to hold all power in their own hands, thereby to use and improve their united force, wisdom, riches, and strength for the common and particular good of every member, as is the nature of a democracy — I say it cannot be that this sort of constitution will so readily furnish those in government with an appetite or disposition to prey upon each other, or embezzle the common stock, as some particular persons may be apt to do when set off and entrusted with the same power. And, moreover, this appears very natural, that when the afore- said government or power, settled in all, when they have elected certain capable persons to minister in their affairs and the said ministers remain accountable to the VINDICATION OF GOVERNMENT OF NEW ENGLAND CHURCHES 33 assembly, these officers must needs be under the influence of many wise cautions from their own thoughts (as well as under con- finement by their commission) in their whole administration. And from thence it must needs follow that they will be more apt and inclined to steer right for the main point, viz., the peculiar good and benefit of the whole and every particular member, fairly and sincerely. And why may not these stand for very rational pleas in church order .f* For certainly if Christ has settled any form of power in his church he has done it for his church's safety, and for the benefit of every member. Then he must needs be presumed to have made choice of that government as should least expose his people to hazard, either from the fraud or arbitrary measures* of particular men. And it is as plain as daylight there is no species of gov- ernment like a democracy to attain this end. There is but about two steps from an aristoc- racy to a monarchy, and from thence but one to a tyranny. An able standing force and an ill nature, ipso facto, turns an absolute monarch into a tyrant. This is obvious amongst the Roman Caesars and through the world. And all these direful transmutations are easier in church aflPairs (from the different qualities of things) than in civil states. For what is it that cunning and learned men can't make the world swallow as an article of their creed, if they are once invested with an uncontrollable power, and are to be the standing orators to mankind in matters of faith and obedience.'' Indeed some very wise and learned men are pleased to inveigh, and reproach the notion of a democracy in the church, which makes the Cetu fidelium, or community of the faithful, the first sub- ject of the power of government. This they say tends to Brownism and abhorred an- archy, and then say they upon such premises, it must needs follov/ that every member of the body must be an officer, and then every one must preach and dispense the sacra- ments, etc. [But] certainly such gentlemen either design to pose and baffle their readers with fallacy, or they themselves never took up or understood the true ideas of the several species of government; in that a democracy is as regular a form and as particular as any other. For, 1. An absolute or limited monarch can't manage the power or government devolved upon him without the great officers of the crown, or a large set of ministers; though possibly he may with the quicker despatch issue out his decrees, yet he must execute all by his ministry. And why may not a democracy be indulged the same liberty .f' And this will prevent all anarchy or con- fusion most apparently. But, 2. The bitter pill to swallow in this doc- trine of a democracy in the church is the terrible power of life and death, or the accountableness of particular members to the assembly, and especially those in the ministry; but yet this is agreeable with the nature of the constitution and easily man- aged without anarchy, or popular confusion also, which would be made very evident if we should but run the parallel in all points between the democracy of the state and church. But nextly from the premises I shall 3. Infer that, if these churches are not properly formed, yet are [they] fairly estab- lished in their present order by the law of nature. And will they be advised, I would exhort them to try who will be so bold as to dare to disseize them. A monarchy has been tried in the church with a witness, but it has absolutely failed us. An aristocracy in a deep calm threw the democracy overboard and took not only the helm in hand, but seized ship and cargo as their right and title, but after some time brought all to ship- wreck, and that in a good harbor too. A democracy was the noble government which beat out in all the bad weather of ten bloody persecutions under the management of antiquity. And this is our constitution, and what, can't we be pleased .f* This con- stitution is as agreeable with the light and laws of nature as any other whatsoever, as has been fairly laid down and fully evinced, and more accommodated to the concerns of religion than any other. Therefore I shall now conclude my demonstration with this brief appeal to the common reason of mankind, viz.: How can it consist with the honorable terms man holds upon here on earth that the best sort of men that we can find in the world, such men as are adorned with a double set of ennobling immunities, the first 34 JOHN WISE from natiirt', the other from grace — that these men when they enter into charter- party to manage a trade for heaven must ipso facto be chipped under a government that is arbitrary and despotic, yea, that carries the plain symptoms of a tyranny in it, when the liglit of nature know^s of a better species and frequently has made use of it? It wants no farther demonstration; for it's most apparent that nature is so much mis- tress of herself that man, in a natural state of being, is under (jod the first subject of all power, and therefore can make his own choice, and by deliberate compacts settles his own conditions for the government of himself in a civil state of being. And when a government so settled shall throw itself from its foundations, or the subjects of sovereign power shall subvert or confound the constitution, they then degrade them- selves, and so all power returns again to the people, who are the first owners. And what! is man become so unfortunate, degraded, and debased as to be without all power in settling a government over himself, relating to the matters of his eternal well-being? Or when he comes back to a father's house must he fall into the capacity of a mere passive being, and be put under such tutors as can easily turn tyrants over him, and no relief left for him in his own hands? This is certainly most repugnant to the light of nature, and very disagreeable with the liberty and free genius of a Gospel state. Nay, in a word, if the government of the churches be settled by God, either in the hands of a church monarch, or aristocracy, and the people are no ways the subject of church power — nay, if they are not under Christ, the fountain of power, then the reformation, so-called, is but a mere cheat, a schism, and notorious rebellion, neither is there room left for the least palliation or shadow of excuse for the reformers in re- nouncing their obedience to their public governors. And. the martyrologies which pretend to immortalize the fame of eminent heroes must be changed into chronicles, handing along an account of the just and deserved fate of a crew of rebels against God and government. For what business had such a company of illiterate and crack- brained fellows to meddle with their rulers, or examine into their administrations? For if they have no right of power in govern- ment, they stand absolutely bound to yield a passive obedience and non-resistance; and, if they are so hardy and daring as to oppose their lawful rulers, the sharpest penalty in this world is too easy for them — the inquisition is but dallying and playing with them — hell is their desert. But how it comes about that a state of grace, when in want of a suitable government, is become such a vassal, and wise and cunning nature is by her creator entrusted and adorned with more ennobling prerogatives, I must leave and resign unto those learned men to solve, who plead for an aristocracy in the churches of Christ. * * * It's certain every species of government, simple and mixed, have their various ex- cellencies and defects; much may be said in honor of each, and also every constitution may have something wanting; at least it may seem so, under a more critical survey of its nature, principles, ill-conveniencies, corrupt ministry, misfortunes, etc. And many times a government falls under scandal from distemper of mind, from false ends and corrupt interests, which sway and overrule men's thoughts relating to government more than from the constitution itself. But, however, to evade all circular discourses, we may very fairly infer, where we find nations flourishing, and their liberty and property with the rest of the great immunities of man's nature nourished, secured, and best guarded from tyranny, we may venture to pronounce this people to be the subjects of a noble government; and there be many such on earth whose constitution will serve to justify ours. I shall instance in three, and no more. I. The P^enetian commonwealth; though some are pleased to call the government of this free state an aristocracy, but it seems more properly a limited democracy, for that the seat of sovereign power is their ancient commons, called their families, enrolled in the golden book; these make up the grand council of the nations, settle the public ministry, and enact laws, etc. This people have by this mode of government raised themselves into so august and flourishing a capacity that from a very obscure original they are grown to that degree as to bridle and curb the pride and haughtiness of Turk VINDICATION OF GOVERNMENT OF NEW ENGLAND CHURCHES 35 and Pope. This example must needs be no small honor to our constitution. But, 2. The Belgic provinces are without inter- ruption allowed to be the subjects of a formed democracy. They in some ages past being insulted and unmercifully trampled upon by that august tyrant, the Spanish monarch, they, being his subjects, broke loose from him and set up for themselves. They assumed to themselves their original power, and, when they had got it into their hands, had the wit, and kept it, and have improved it in the form of a democracy to this day; and God has blessed them, that from the poor states of Holland^ they are now grown to wear the splendid title of "their high mightinesses," and are a match for most monarchs on earth. Says Gordon of their government: "The seven provinces of Hol- land, being under a democratical govern- ment, are as it were several commonwealths, each province being a distinct state; yea, and every city having an independent power within itself to judge of all causes, whether civil or criminal, and to inflict even capital punishments; but all joining together make one republic, the most considerable in the world." * * * 3. The English. This nation is reputed to be the subjects of the finest and most in- comparable government in the world. And this original happy form of government is (says one) truly and properly called an Eng- lishman's liberty: a privilege to be freed in person and estate from arbitrary violence and oppression, and a greater inheritance than we derive from our parents. And this birth- right of Englishmen shines most conspicu- ously in two things: (i) In Parliaments^ wherein the subject has, by his representatives, a share in legis- lative power, and so makes his own laws, and disposes of his own money. (2) In Juries, whereby he has a share in the executive part of law, so that no causes are tried, nor any man adjudged to lose his life, member, or estate, but upon the verdict of his peers, his equals or neighbors, and of his own condition. These two grand pillars of English liberty are the fundamental, vital privileges whereby we have been, and are still preserved more free and happy than any other people in the world, and we trust shall ever continue so. For whosoever shall design to impair, per- vert, undermine either of these, do strike at the very constitution of our government, and ought to be prosecuted and punished with the utmost zeal and vigor. For to poison all the springs and rivers in the king- dom could not be a greater mischief, for this would only affect the present age, but the other would ruin and enslave all our posterity. * * * JONATHAN EDWARDS (1703-1758) Jonathan Edwards was born at East (now South) Windsor, Connecticut, on 5 October, 1703. He was the Hfth of his parents' eleven children, and their only son. When he was thirteen he entered a school at Saybrook, which was soon removed to New Haven, to become Yale Collej^c, from which he was graduated in 1720. He remained at New Haven two years more, studying divinity, and then, after a short period of preaching in New York, took his M.A. at Yale and was for two years a tutor in the College (1724-1726). At the end of this period he was called to assist his grandfather, the venerable Solomon Stoddard, in the church at Northampton. He was installed in this post on 15 February, 1727. Shortlj' afterwards he married Sarah Pierrepont of New Haven. In 1729 Edwards's grandfather died, leaving him in sole charge of the Northampton church. Here he remained until he was dismissed by the congregation, in June, 1750. In the following year he removed to Stock- bridge, Massachusetts, where he took charge of a mission to the Indians. At this remote frontier post he lived until 1758, when he journeyed to Princeton to become President of Nassau Hall, the College of New Jersey, in succession to the elder Aaron Burr. The small-pox was present in the town, and Edwards was inoculated. From the effects of this he died on 22 March, shortly after his inaug- uration. Such were the chief outward events in the life of the most rigorous and profound thinker whom America has produced. Even as a boy Edwards exhibited phenomenal capacities, as can be seen from his paper on The Flying Spider, written when he was about twelve years old. During his sophomore year in college he read Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding, which made a deep impression on him. As early as this, or earlier, he had begun his lifelong practice of reading and thinking with a pen in his hand, always ready to write down what might be useful to him, and always aiming, not at mere assimilation, but at positive thinking on his own account. And soon after his reading of Locke's Essay he began a series of notes for a comprehensive treatise on the mind, and another series for a treatise on natural science. These notes cannot be exactly dated, but it is considered certain that some of the most interesting of them date from his undergraduate days, or from about his six- teenth year, and that all, or practically all, of them date from before his twentieth year. Fragments though they are, they are amongst the most significant of Edwards's writings, and selections from them are here reprinted. They exhibit not only the early development of his intellectual powers, but also the astonishing fact that, almost certainly without knowledge of Bishop Berkeley's work, he had gone on from Locke to an idealism Berkeleian in character; and they exhibit as well the fact that he had already, after studying Sir Isaac Newton, reached independent conclusions concerning the method of science. But Edwards's upbringing, immediate surroundings, and inner experiences all conspired to lead him aside from the glittering career as a philosopher and man of letters which he might have had, and to send him on in life as the last and greatest leader of New England Puritanism. In the Personal Narrative here reprinted — one of the classics of the world's religious literature — we are given the day, 12 January, 1723, when he solemnly dedicated himself to the service of God. On this day he also entered in the Resolutions which he had begun to draw up for his guidance, one upon which he acted unfalteringly throughout the remainder of his life: "Resolved, that no other end but religion shall have any influence at all on any of my actions; and that no action shall be, in the least circumstance, any otherwise than the religious end will carry it." The task which confronted Edwards, in his attempt to live in the spirit of this Resolution, was one of opposing the teachings of the Dutch theologian Ar- minius, according to which man's will was regarded as free and man consequently was asserted to have the power of initiating actions, on his own account, which might contribute to his salvation. Arminius attempted to soften Calvinism both by taking off from the Deity responsibility for the exist- ence of evil and by legitimizing man's sense of his own dignity and worth. The intention was well enough, but, not to speak of other difficulties, practically the diffusion of Arminianism lent a certain sanction to the religious indifference which had begun to spread through New England by the early part of the eighteenth century. Edwards's task, then, was to discredit Arminian teaching, to revive genuine Calvinism, and to try to rouse the people to an effective sense of their complete dependence on God, and of the tremendous consequences of sinful disobedience. 36 THE MIND 37 It is significant that one of the Resolutions above referred to reads: "Resolved, to hve with all my Plight while I do hvc." lulwards did so, and his own inner religious experiences partook of the nature of ecstasy. He thus brought Hre as well as devotion to his life's work — a fire that shone and burned through his severely controlled and rigorously logical sermons and discourses. And for a time he seemed to be wonderfully succeeding in his efforts. In the years 1734 ^"^ ^735 ^^ brought about an unmistakable revival of religious interest, whose extent and nature may be learned from his Faithful Narrative of the Surprising JVork of God in the Conversion of Many Hundred Souls in Northampton and the Neighboring Tozvns and Villages (written in 1736). And this revival prepared the way for the "Great Awakening" which swept through New England a few years later, one of the important events of which was Edwards's preaching, at F^nfield, of his most famous sermon, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. The "Awakening" must have seemed to Edwards the sign and seal of almost complete success in the practical portion of his task, and he confidently justified it against criticism in The Dis- tinguishing Marks of a Work of the Spirit of God (1741) and in Some Thoughts Concerning the Present Revival of Religion in New England (1742). Nevertheless, those who distrusted the "Awakening" were in the right of it, for the high-pitched excitement induced by religious ecstasy or terror could not endure, and indeed tended to subside into strong reaction. Edwards soon saw indications of this, and felt it directly in his dismissal from Northampton. The immediate causes of this painful incident scarcely account for it, and the truth is that a large portion of Edwards's congregation had come to fear the man, and were ready to seize any pretext for banishing one who failed to understand that not all men were, like himself, able and anxious heroically to devote their whole lives to the service of God. Thus Edwards's life ended in outer defeat, though he continued, held up by his own sense of "evangelical integrity," to support his cause in one way, if not in another. His later years were largely occupied by the composition of several treatises which still, in an alien age, are read with admiration, for their evidences of his religious genius and of his power of sustained and close argument. The chief of these are: A Treatise Concerning Religious Affections (1746); A Careful and Strict Inquiry into the Modern Prevailing Notions of that Freedom of the Will which is Supposed to be Essential to Moral Agency (1754); The Great Christian Doctrine of Original Sin Defended (1758); and Two Dissertations: I. Concerning the End for which God Created the World. II. The Nature of True Virtue (posthumously published, 1765)- THE MIND^ EXCELLENCY There has nothing been more w^ithout a definition than Excellency; although it be what we are more concerned with than any thing else whatsoever: yea, we are concerned with nothing else. But what is this Ex- cellency? Wherein is one thing excellent, and another evil; one beautiful, and another deformed.? Some have said that all Ex- cellency is IlarmoJiy, Symmetry^ or Pro- portion; but they have not yet explained it. We would know, Why Proportion is more excellent than Disproportion; that is, why Proportion is pleasant to the mind, and Dis- proportion unpleasant.? Proportion is a thing that may be explained yet further. It is an Equalityy or Likeness of ratios; so that it is the Equality, that makes the Pro- portion. Excellency therefore seems to con- sist in Equality. Thus, if there be two per- fect equal circles, or globes, together, there is 1 All of the following selections are reprinted from the ten-volume edition of Edwards's Works (New York, 1829) edited with a memoir by S. E. Dwight. something more of beauty than if they were of unequal, disproportionate magnitudes. And if two parallel lines be drawn, the beauty is greater, than if they were obliquely inclined without proportion, because there is equality of distance. And if betwixt two parallel lines, two equal circles be placed, each at the same distance from each parallel line, as in Fig. I, the beauty is greater than if they stood o o 3 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 at irregular distances from the parallel lines. If they stand, each in a perpendicular line, going from the parallel lines (Fig. 2), it is requisite that they should each stand at an equal distance from the perpendicular line next to them; otherwise there is no beauty. If there be three of these circles between two parallel lines, and near to a perpendicu- lar line run between them (Fig. 3), the most beautiful form, perhaps, that they could be placed in, is in an equilateral triangle with the cross line, because there are most equali- 38 JONAI'IIAN EDWARDS ties. The dlst.uue of the two next to tin- cross line is eqii;il from thnt, nnd also equal from rlu' parallel lines. 1 he distance of the third from each parallel is ecjual, and its distance from each ot the other two circles is equal, and is also equal to their distance from one another, and likewise eciual to their distance from each end of the cross line. There are two equilateral triangles: one made by the three circles, and the other made by the cross line and two of the sides of the first protracted till they meet that line. And if there be another like it, on the opposite side, to correspond with it and it be taken altogether, the beauty is still greater, where the distances from the lines, in the one, are equal to the distances in the other; also the two next to the cross lines are at equal distances from the other two; or, if you go crosswise, from corner to corner. The two cross lines are also parallel, so that all parts are at an equal distance, and innumerable other equalities might be found. This simple Equality, without Proportion, is the lowest kind of Regularity, and may be called Simple Beauty. All other beauties and excellencies may be resolved into it. Proportion is Complex Beauty. Thus, if we suppose that there are tw^o points, A B, placed at two inches' distance, and the next, C, one inch farther (Fig. i), it is req- uisite, in order to regularity and beauty, Fig. I B CD Fig. 2 B C if there be another, D, that it should be at half an inch distance; otherwise there is no regularity, and the last, D, would stand out of its proper place; because now the relation that the space C D, bears to B C, is equal to the relation that B C, bears to A B; so that B C D, is exactly similar to ABC. It is evident, this is a more compli- cated excellency than that which consisted in Equality, because the terms of the relation are here complex, and before were simple. When there are three points set in a right line, it is requisite, in order to regularity, that they should be set at an equal distance, as A B C (Fig. 2), where A B, is similar to B C, or the relation of C to B, is the same as of B to A. But in the other are three terms necessary in each of the parts, between which the relation, B C D, is as ABC: so that here more simple beauties are omit- ted, and yet there is a general complex beauty: that is, B C is not as A B, nor is C D as B C, but yet, B C D is as A B C. It is requisite that the consent or regularity of C D to B C, be omitted, for the sake of the harmony of the whole. For although, if C D was perfectly equal to B C, there would be regularity and beauty with respect to them two; yet, if A B be taken into the idea, there is nothing but confusion. And it might be requisite, if these stood with others, even to omit this proposition, for the sake of one more complex still. Thus, if they stood with other points, where B stood at four inches' distance from A, C at two from B, and D at six from C: the place where D must stand in, if A, B, C, D, were alone, viz., one inch from C, must be so as to be made proportionate with the other points beneath: A B C D I ' I ' I ' I ' I A I I I B I I I I I I I I I I I I I C D So that although A, B, C, D, are not pro- portioned, but are confusion among them- selves; yet taken with the whole they are proportioned and beautiful. All beauty consists in similarness or iden- tity of relation. In identity of relation consists all likeness, and all identity between two consists in identity of relation. Thus, when the distance between two is exactly equal, their distance is their relation one to another, the distance is the same, the bodies are two; wherefore this is their correspon- dency and beauty. So bodies exactly of the same figure, the bodies are two, the relation between the parts of the extremities is the same, and this is their agreement with them. But if there are two bodies of diflPerent shapes, having no similarness of relation be- tween the parts of the extremities; this, con- sidered by itself, is a deformity, because being disagrees with being, which must undoubtedly be disagreeable to perceiving being: because what disag'-ees with Being must necessarily be disagreeable to Being in general, to every thing that partakes of Entity, and of course to perceiving being; THE MIND 39 and what agrees with Being, must be agree- able to Being in general, and therefore to perceiving being. But agreeableness of per- ceiving being is pleasure, and disagreeable- ness is pain. Disagreement or contrariety to Being is evidently an approach to Nothing, or a degree of Nothing; which is nothing else but disagreement or contrariety of Being, and the greatest and only evil: And Entity is the greatest and only good. And by how much more perfect Entity is that is without mixture of Nothing, by so much the more Excellency. Two beings can agree one with another in nothing else but Rela- tion; because otherwise the notion of their twoness (duality) is destroyed, and they become one. And so, in every case, what is called Corre- spondency, Symmetry, Regularity, and the like, may be resolved into Equalities; though the Equalities in a beauty, in any degree complicated, are so numerous that it would be a most tedious piece of work to enumerate them. There are millions of these Equali- ties. Of these consist the beautiful shape of flowers, the beauty of the body of man, and of the bodies of other animals. That sort of beauty which is called Natural, as of vines, plants, trees, etc., consists of a very compli- cated harmony; and all the natural motions, and tendencies, and figures of bodies in the Universe are done according to proportion, and therein is their beauty. Particular dis- proportions sometimes greatly add to the general beauty, and must necessarily be, in order to a more universal proportion: — So much equality, so much beauty; though it may be noted that the quantity of equality is not to be measured only by the number, but the intenseness, according to the quan- tity of being. As bodies are shadows of being, so their proportions are shadows of proportion. The pleasures of the senses, where har- mony is not the object of judgment, are the result of equality. Thus in Music, not only in the proportion which the several notes of a tune bear, one among another, but in merely two notes, there is harmony; whereas it is impossible there should be proportion between only two terms. But the propor- tion is in the particular vibrations of the air, which strike on the ear. And so, in the pleasantness of light, colors, tastes, smells, and touch, all arise from proportion of mo- tion. The organs are so contrived that, upon the touch of such and such particles, there shall be a regular and harmonious motion of the animal spirits. Spiritual harmonies are of vastly larger extent: i. c, the proportions are vastly oftener redoubled, and respect mere beings, and require a vastly larger view to compre- hend them; as some simple notes do more affect one, who has not a comprehensive understanding of Music. The reason why Equality thus pleases the mind, and Inequality is unpleasing, is be- cause Disproportion, or Inconsistency, is contrary to Being. For Being, if we examine narrowly, is nothing else but Proportion. When one being is inconsistent with another being, then Being is contradicted. But con- tradiction to Being, is intolerable to per- ceiving being, and the consent to Being, most pleasing. Excellency consists in the Similarness of one being to another — not merely Equality and Proportion, but any kind of Similar- ness— thus Similarness of direction. Sup- posing many globes moving in right lines, it is more beautiful, that they should move all the same way, and according to the same direction, than if they moved disorderly; one, one way, and another, another. This is an universal definition of Excellency: — The Consent of Being to Being, or Being's Consent to Entity. The more the Consent is, and the more extensive, the greater is the Excellency. How exceedingly apt are we, when we are stitting still, and accidentally casting our eye upon some marks or spots in the floor or wall, to be ranging of them into regular parcels and figures: and, if we see a mark out of its place, to be placing of it right, by our imagination; and this, even while we are meditating on something else. So we may catch ourselves at observing the rules of harmony and regularity, in the careless motions of our heads or feet, and when play- ing with our hands, or walking about the room. Pleasedness, in perceiving Being, always arises either from a perception of Consent to Being in general, or of Consent to that Being that perceives. As we have shown 40 JONATHAN EDWARDS that Ajirteablcncss to Entity must be agree- able to perceiving; Entity it is as evident that it is necessary that Agreeableness to that Being must be pleasing to it, if it perceives it. So that Pleasedness does not always arise from a perception of Excellency lin general;] but the greater a Being is, and the more it has of Entity, the more will Con- sent to Being in general please it. But God is proper Entity itself, and these two there- fore, in Him, become the same; for, so far as a thing consents to Being in general, so far it consents to Him; and the more perfect Cre- ated Spirits are, the nearer do they come to their Creator, in this regard. That, vvhich is often called Self Love^ is exceedingly improperly called Love^ for they do not only say that one loves himself, when he sees something amiable in himself, the view of which begets delight. But merely an inclination to pleasure, and averseness to pain, they call Self Love; so that the devils, and other damned spirits, love themselves, not because they see any thing in them- selves, which they imagine to be lovely, but merely, because they do not incline to pain but to pleasure, or merely because they are capable of pain or pleasure; for pain and pleasure include an inclination to agreeable- ness, and an aversion to disagreeableness. Now how improper is it to say, that one loves himself, because what is agreeable to him is agreeable to him, and what is dis- agreeable to him is disagreeable to him: which mere Entity supposes. So that this, that they call Self Love, is no affection, but only the Entity of the thing, or his being what he is. One alone, without any reference to any more, cannot be excellent; for in such case, there can be no manner of relation no way, and therefore no such thing as Consent. Indeed what we call One, may be excellent because of a consent of parts, or some con- sent of those in that being, that are dis- tinguished into a plurality some way or other. But in a being that is absolutely without any plurality, there cannot be Excellency, for there can be no such thing as consent or agreement. One of the highest excellencies is Love. As nothing else has a proper being but Spirits, and as Bodies are but the shadow of being, therefore the consent of bodies one to another, and the harmony that is among them, is but the shadow of Excellency. The highest Excellency therefore must be the consent of Spirits one to another. But the consent of Spirits consists half in their mutual love one to another. And the sweet harmony between the various parts of the Universe, is only an image of mutual love. But yet a lower kind of love may be odious, because it hinders, or is contrary to, a higher and more general. Even a lower proportion is often a deformity, because it is contrary to a more general proportion. Coroll. I. If so much of the beauty and excellency of Spirits consists in Love, then the deformity of evil spirits consists as much in hatred and malice. Coroll. 2. The more any doctrine, or insti- tution, brings to light of the Spiritual World, the more will it urge to Love and Charity. Happiness strictly consists in the per- ception of these three things: of the consent of being to its own being; of its own consent to being; and of being's consent to being. Excellence, to put it in other words, is that which is beautiful and lovely. That which is beautiful, considered by itself sepa- rately, and deformed, considered as a part of something else more extended; or beauti- ful, only with respect to itself and a few other things, and not as a part of that which contains all things — the Universe; is false beauty and a confined beauty. That which is beautiful, with respect to the university of things, has a generally extended excellence and a true beauty; and the more extended, or limited, its system is, the more confined or extended is its beauty. As bodies, the objects of our external senses, are but the shadows of beings; that harmony, wherein consists sensible excel- lency and beauty, is but the shadow of excellency. That is, it is pleasant to the mind, because it is a shadow of love. When one thing sweetly harmonizes with another, as the Notes in music, the notes are so conformed, and have such proportion one to another, that they seem to have respect one to another, as if they loved one another. NOTES ON NATURAL SCIENCE 41 So the beauty of figures and motions is, when one part has such consonant proportion with the rest, as represents a general agree- ing and consenting together; which is very- much the image of Love, in all the parts of a Society, united by a sweet consent and charity of heart. Therein consists the beauty of figures, as of floWers drawn with a pen; and the beauty of the body, and of the features of the face. There is no other way, that sensible things can consent one to another but by Equality, or by Likeness, or by Proportion. There- fore the lowest or most simple kind of beauty is equality or likeness; because by equality or likeness, one part consents with but one part; but by Proportion one part may sweetly consent to ten thousand diflPerent parts; all the parts may consent with all the rest; and not only so, but the parts, taken singly, may consent with the whole taken together. Thus, in the figures or flour- ishes drawn by an acute penman, every stroke may have such a proportion, both by the place and distance, direction, degree of curvity, etc.y that there may be a consent, in the parts of each stroke, one with another, and a harmonious agreement with all the strokes, and with the various parts, com- posed of many strokes, and an agreeableness to the whole figure taken together. There is a beauty in Equality, as appears very evident by the very great respect men show to it, in every thing they make or do. How unbeautiful would be the body, if the parts on one side were unequal to those on the other; how unbeautiful would writing be, if the letters were not of an equal height, or the lines of an equal length, or at an equal distance, or if the pages were not of an equal width or height; and how unbeautiful would a building be, if no equality were observed in the correspondent parts. Existence or Entity is that, mto which all Excellency is to be resolved. Being or Ex- istence is what is necessarily agreeable to Being; and when Being perceives it, it will be an agreeable perception; and any con- tradiction to Being or Existence is what Being when it perceives, abhors. If Being, in itself considered, were not pleasing, Be- ing's consent to Being would not be pleasing, nor would Being's disagreeing with Being, be displeasing. Therefore, not only may Greatness be considered as a capacity of Excellency; but a Being, by reason of his greatness considered alone, is the more excellent, because he partakes more of Being. Though if he be great, if he dissents from more general and extensive Being, or from Universal Being; he is the more odious for his greatness, because the dissent or con- tradiction to Being in general is so much the greater. It is more grating to see much Being dissent from Being than to see little; and his greatness, or the quantity of Being he partakes of, does nothing towards bettering his dissent from Being in general, because there is no proportion between Finite Being, however great, and Universal Being. Coroll. I. Hence it is impossible that God should be any otherwise, than excellent; for he is the Infinite, Universal and All- comprehending, Existence. 2. Hence God infinitely loves himself, because his Being is Infinite. He is in him- self, if I may so say, an Infinite Quantity of Existence. 3. Hence we learn one reason, why per- sons, who view Death merely as Annihila- tion, have a great abhorrence of it, though they live a very afflicted life. NOTES ON NATURAL SCIENCE OF THE PREJUDICES OF THE IMAGINATION Of all prejudices, no one so fights with Natural Philosophy, and prevails more against it, than those of the Imagination. It is these, which make the vulgar so roar out, upon the mention of some very rational philosophical truths. And indeed I have known of some very learned men, that have pretended to a more than ordinary freedom from such prejudices, so overcome by them, that, merely because of them, they have believed things most absurd. And truly I hardly know of any other prejudices, that are more powerful against truth of any kind, than those; and I believe they will not give the hand to any in any case, except to those arising from our ruling self-interest, or the impetuosity of human passions. And there is very good reason for it; for opinions, aris- 42 JONATHAN EDWARDS in<^ from imagination, take us as soon as we are born, are beat into us by every act of sensation, and so j^row up with us from our very births, and by that means grow into us so fast, that it is ahiiost impossible to root them out; being, as it were, so incorporated with our very minds, that whatsoever is ob- jected contrary thereunto, is, as if it were dissonant to the very constitution of them. Hence men come to make what they can actually perceive by their senses, or by im- mediate and outside reflection into their own souls, the standard of possibility and im- possibility; so that there must be no body, forsooth, bigger than they can conceive of, or less than they can see with their eyes: no motion, either much swifter, or slower, than they can imagine. As to the greatness, and distances of bodies, the learned world have pretty well conquered their imagination, with respect to them; neither will any body flatly deny, that it is possible for bodies to be of any degree of bigness that can be mentioned; yet imaginations of this kind, among the learned themselves, even of this learned age, have a very powerful secret influence, to cause them, either to reject things really true, as erroneous, or to em- brace those that are truly so. Thus some men will yet say, they cannot conceive, how the Fixed Stars can be so distant as that the Earth's annual revolution should cause no parallax among them, and so are almost ready to fall back into antiquated Ptolemy his system, merely to ease their imagina- tion.— Thus also, on the other hand, a very learned man and sagacious astronomer, upon consideration of the vast magnitude of the visible part of the universe, has, in the ecstasy of his imagination, been hurried on to pronounce the universal infinite; which I may say, out of veneration, was beneath such a man as he. As if it were any more an argument, because what he could see of the universe were so big, as he was assured it was. And suppose he had discovered the invisible universe, so vast as it is, to be as a globule of water to another Universe; the case is the same; as if it w^ould have been any more of an argument, that that larger Universe was infinite, than if the visible part thereof were no bigger than a particle of the water of this. I think one is no nearer to infinite than the other. OF BEING That there should absolutely be Nothing at all, is utterly impossible. The mind, let it stretch its conceptions ever so far, can never so much as bring itself to conceive of a state of perfect Nothing. It puts the mind into mere convulsion and confusion, to think of such a state: and it contradicts the very nature of the soul, to think that such a state should be. It is the greatest of contradic- tions, and the aggregate of all contradictions, to say that thing should not be. It is true, we cannot so distinctly show the contra- diction in words; because we cannot talk about it, without speaking stark nonsense, and contradicting ourselves at every way: and because Nothing is that, whereby we distinctly show other particular contradic- tions. But here we are run up to our first principle, and have no other to explain the nothingness, or not being of Nothing by. Indeed we can mean nothing else by Noth- ing, but a state of absolute contradiction; and if any man thinks, that he can conceive well enough how there should be Nothing, I will engage, that what he means by Nothing, is as much Something, as any thing that he ever thought of in his life; and I believe, that if he knew what Nothing was, it would be intuitively evident to him that it could not be. — Thus we see it is necessary that some being should eternally be. And it is a more palpable contradiction still to say, that there must be Being somewhere, and not otherwhere, for the words Absolute Nothingy and Where, contradict each other. And, besides, it gives as great a shock to the mind, to think of pure Nothing being in any one place, as it does to think of it in all places: and it is self-evident, that there can be Nothing in one place, as well as in another; and if there can be in one, there can be [in] all. So that we see that this Necessary, Eternal Being must be Infinite and Omnipresent. This Infinite and Omnipresent being can- not be solid. Let us see how contradictory it is, to say that an Infinite being is solid; for solidity surely is nothing but resistance to other solidities. — Space is this necessary, eternal, infinite, and omnipresent being. We find that we can, with ease, conceive how all other beings should not be. We can re- move them out of our minds, and place some NOTES ON NATURAL SCIENCE 43 other in the room of them: but Space is the very thing, that we can never remove, and conceive of its not being. If a man would imagine Space any where to be divided, so as there should be nothing between the divided parts, there remams Space between, notwithstanding, and so the man contra- dicts himself. And it is self-evident I believe to every man, that Space is necessary, eter- nal, infinite, and omnipresent. But I had as good speak plain: I have already said as much as, that Space is God. And it is indeed clear to me, that all the Space there is, not proper to body, all the Space there is with- out the bounds of Creation, all the Space there was before the Creation, is God him- self; and no body would in the least pick at it, if it were not because of the gross con- ceptions that we have of Space. A state of absolute nothing is a state of absolute contradiction. Absolute nothing is the aggregate of all the contradictions in the world: a state, wherein there is neither body, nor spirit, nor space, neither empty space nor full space, neither little nor great, narrow nor broad, neither infinite space nor finite space, not even a mathematical point, neither up nor down, neither north nor south (I do not mean, as it is with respect to the body of the earth, or some other great body), but no contrary points, positions or direc- tions, no such thing as either here or there, this way or that way, or any way. When we go about to form an idea of perfect Nothing, we must shut out all these things: we must shut out of our minds both space that has something in it, and space that has nothing in it. We must not allow ourselves to think of the least part of Space, be it ever so small. Nor must we suffer our thoughts to take sanctuary in a mathematical point. When [we] go to expel being out of our thoughts, we must be careful not to leave empty space in the room of it; and when we go to expel emptiness from our thoughts, we must not think to squeeze it out by any thing close, hard and solid; but we must think of the same, that the sleeping rocks do dream of; and not till then, shall we get a complete idea of Nothing. When we go to Inquire, Whether or no, there can be absolutely Nothing.? we utter nonsense, in so inquiring. The stating of the question is nonsense; because we make a disjunction where there is none. Either Being, or absolute Nothing, is no disjunction; no more than whether a triangle is a triangle, or not a triangle. There is no other way, but only for there to be existence: there is no such thing, as absolute Nothing. There is such a thing, as Nothing, with respect to this ink and paper: there is such a thing, as Nothing, with respect to you and me: there is such a thing, as Nothing, with respect to this globe of earth, and with respect to this Universe. There is another way, beside these things, having existence; but there is no such thing, as Nothing, with respect to Entity, of being, absolutely considered. We do not know what we say, if we say that we think it possible in itself, that there should not be Entity. And how doth it grate upon the mind, to think that Something should be from all eternity, and yet Nothing all the while be conscious of it. To illustrate this: Let us suppose that the World had a being from all eternity, and had many great changes, and wonderful revolutions, and all the while Nothing knew it, there was no knowledge in the Universe of any such thing. How is it possible to bring the mind to imagine this.'' Yea, it is really impossible it should be, that any thing should exist, and Nothing know it. Then you will say. If it be so, it is, because Nothing has any existence but in conscious- ness: No, certainly, no where else, but either in created or uncreated consciousness. Suppose there were another Universe, merely of bodies, created at a great distance from this; created in excellent order, har- monious motions, and a beautiful variety; and there was no created intelligence in it, nothing but senseless bodies, and nothing but God knew any thing of it. I demand where else that Universe would have a being, but only in the Divine consciousness .f* Cer- tainly, in no other respect. There would be figures, and magnitudes, and motions, and proportions; but where, where else, except in the Almighty's knowledge.? How is it possible there should.? — But then you will say. For the same reason, in a room closely shut up, which nobody sees, there is nothing, except in God's knowledge. — I answer, Created beings are conscious of the effects of what is in the room; for, perhaps, there is not one leaf of a tree, nor a spire of grass, 44 JONATHAN EDWARDS but what produces effects, all over tlie Universe and will produce them, to the end of eternity. But any otherwise, there is nothing in a room so shut up, but only in God's consciousness. How can any thing be there, any other way? This will appear to be truly so, to any one who thinks of it, with the whole united strength of his mind. Let us suppose, for illustration, this impossibility, that all the spirits in the Universe were, for a time, deprived of their consciousness, and that God's consciousness, at the same time, were to be intermitted. I say the Universe, for that time, would cease to be, of itself; and this not merely, as we speak, because the Almighty could not attend to uphold it; but because God could know nothing of it. It is our foolish imagination that will not suffer us to see it. We fancy there may be figures and magnitudes, relations and proper- ties, without any one know^ing of it. But it is our imagination hurts us. We do not know what figures and properties are. Our imagination makes us fancy that we see shapes, and colors, and magnitudes, though nobody is there to behold it. But to help our imagination, let us thus state the case: Let us suppose the creation de- prived of every ray of light, so that there should not be the least glimmering of light in the Universe. Now all will own that, in such case, the Universe would really be immediately deprived of all its colors. No one part of the Universe is any more red, or blue, or green, or yellow, or black, or white, or light, or dark, or transparent, or opaque. There would be no visible distinction be- tween the Universe and the rest of the in- comprehensible void: yea, there would be no difference, in these respects, between the Universe and the infinite void; so that any part of that void would really be as light and as dark, as white and as black, as red and as green, as blue and as brown, as transparent and as opaque, as any part of the Universe: so that, in such case, there w^ould be no difference, in these respects, between the Universe and Nothing. So also, there would be no difference, between one part of the Universe and another: all, in these respects, is alike confounded with, and undistinguished from, infinite emptiness. At the same time, also, let us suppose the Universe to be altogether deprived of mo- tion, and all parts of it to be at perfect rest. 1 hen, the Universe would not differ from the void, in this respect: there would be no more motion in the one, than in the other. Then, also, solidity would cease. All that we mean, or can be meant, by solidity, is resistance; resistance to touch, the resist- ance of some parts of space. 1 his is all the knowledge we get of solidity, by our senses, and, I am sure, all that we can get, any other way. But solidity shall be shown to be nothing else, more fully, hereafter. But there can be no resistance, if there is no motion. One body cannot resist another, when there is perfect rest among them. But, you will say. Though there is no actual resistance, yet there is potential resistance: that is, such and such parts of space would resist upon occasion. But this is all that I would have, that there is no solidity now; not but that God could cause there to be, on occasion. And if there is no solidity, there is no extension, for extension is the extended- ness of solidity. Then, all figure, and magni- tude, and proportion, immediately cease. Put, then, both these suppositions together: that is, deprive the Universe of light, and motion, and the case would stand thus, with the Universe: There would be neither white nor black, neither blue nor brown, neither bright nor shaded, pellucid nor opaque, no noise nor sound, neither heat nor cold, neither fluid nor solid, neither wet nor dry, neither hard nor soft, nor solidity, nor extension, nor figure, nor magnitude, nor proportion, nor body, nor spirit. What, then, is to become of the Universe? Cer- tainly it exists no where, but in the Divine mind. This will be abundantly clearer to one, after having read what I have further to say of solidity, etc.: so that we see that a Universe, without motion, can exist no where else but in the mind — either infinite or finite. Corollary. It follows from hence, that those beings which have knowledge and consciousness, are the only proper and real, and substantial beings; inasmuch as the being of other things is only by these. From hence, we may see the gross mistake of those who think material things the most sub- stantial beings, and spirits more like a shadow; whereas, spirits only are properly substance. PERSONAL NARRATIVE 45 THINGS TO BE CONSIDERED, OR WRITTEN FULLY ABOUT Second Series 47. Since, as has been shown, body is nothing but an infinite resistance, in some parts of space, caused by the immediate exercise of Divine power; it follows, that as great and as wonderful power is every mo- ment exerted in the upholding of the world, as at first was exerted in its creation: the first creation being only the first exertion of this power, to cause such resistance, and the preservation, only the continuation or the repetition of this power, every moment to cause this resistance: so that the Universe is created out of nothing every moment. And, if it w^ere not for our imaginations, w^hich hinder us, we might see that wonderful work performed continually, which was seen by the morning stars, when they sang together. SARAH PIERREPONTi They say there is a young lady in [New Haven] who is beloved of that Great Being, who made and rules the world, and that there are certain seasons in which this Great Being, in some way or other invisible, comes to her and fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight, and that she hardly cares for any thing, except to meditate on him — that she expects after a while to be received up where he is, to be raised up out of the world and caught up into heaven; being assured that he loves her too w^ell to let her remain at a distance from him always. There she is to dwell with him, and to be ravished with his love and delight for ever. Therefore, if you present all the world before her, with the richest of its treasures, she disregards it and cares not for it, and is unmindful of any pain or afl^liction. She has a strange sweetness in her mind, and singular purity in her affec- tions; is most just and conscientious in all her conduct; and you could not persuade her to do any thing wrong or sinful, if you would give her all the world, lest she should offend this Great Being. She is of a wonderful sweetness, calmness, and universal benevo- 1 Written, it is said, four years before Edwards's marriage to Sarah Pierrepont — i.e., when he was twenty and she thirteen. lence of mind; especially after this Great God has manifested himself to her mind. She will sometimes go about from place to place, singing sweetly; and seems to be always full of joy and pleasure; and no one knows for what. She loves to be alone, walking in the fields and groves, and seems to have some one invisible always conversing with her. PERSONAL NARRATIVE^ 1 HAD a variety of concerns and exercises about my soul from my childhood; but had two more remarkable seasons of awakening, before I met with that change by which I was brought to those new dispositions, and that new sense of things, tj^iat I have since had. The first time was when I was a boy, some years before I went to college, at a time of remarkable awakening in my father's congregation. I was then very much affected for many months, and concerned about the things of religion, and my soul's salvation; and was abundant in duties. I used to pray five times a day in secret, and to spend much time in religious talk with other boys, and used to meet with them to pray together. I experienced I know not what kind of delight in religion. My mind was much engaged in it, and had much self-righteous pleasure; and it was my delight to abound in religious duties. I with some of my schoolmates joined together, and built a booth in a swamp, in a very retired spot, for a place of prayer. And besides, I had particular secret places of my own in the woods, where I used to retire by myself; and was from time to time much affected. My affections seemed to be lively and easily moved, and I seemed to be in my element when engaged in relig- ious duties. And I am ready to think, many are deceived with such affections, and such a kind of delight as I then had in religion, and mistake it for grace. But in process of time, my convictions and affections wore off; and I entirely lost all those affections and delights and left off secret prayer, at least as to any constant performance of it; and returned like a dog to his vomit, and went on in the ways of sin. 2 Written at some time after January, 1739 (see the concluding paragraph), probably within the following couple of years. 46 JONATHAN EDWARDS Indeed I was at times very uneasy, especially toward the latter part of my time at college; when it pleased (lod to seize me with the pleurisv; in which he brought me nigh to the grave, and shook me over the pit of hell. And yet, it was not long after my recovery before I fell again into my old ways of sin. But God would not suffer me to go on with my quietness; I had great and violent in- ward struggles, till, after many conflicts with wicked inclinations, repeated resolu- tions, and bonds that I laid myself under by a kind of vows to God, I was brought wholly to break oflp all former wicked ways, and all ways of known outward sin; and to apply myself to seek salvation, and practice many religious duties; but without that kind of affection and dalight which I had formerly experienced. My concern now wrought more by inward struggles and conflicts, and self-reflections. I made seeking my salva- tion the main business of my life. But yet, it seems to me, I sought after a miserable manner; which has made me sometimes since to question, whether ever it issued in that which was saving; being ready to doubt, whether such miserable seeking ever succeeded. I was indeed brought to seek salvation in a manner that I never was before; I felt a spirit to part with all things in the world, for an interest in Christ. — My concern continued and prevailed, with many exercising thoughts and inward struggles; but yet it never seemed to be proper to express that concern by the name of terror. From my childhood up, my mind had been full of objections against the doctrine of God's sovereignty, in choosing whom he would to eternal life, and rejecting whom he pleased; leaving them eternally to perish, and be everlastingly tormented in hell. It used to appear like a horrible doctrine to me. But I remember the time very well when I seemed to be convinced, and fully satisfied, as to this sovereignty of God, and his justice in thus eternally disposing of men, according to his sovereign pleasure. But never could give an account, how, or by what means, I was thus convinced, not in the least imagining at the time, nor a long time after, that there was any extraordinary influence of God's Spirit in it; but only that now I saw further, and my reason appre- hended the justice and reasonableness of it. However, my mind rested in it; and it put an end to all those cavils and objections. And there has been a wonderful alteration in my mind, with respect to the doctrine of (jod's sovereignty, from that day to this; so that I scarce ever have found so much as the rising of an objection against it, in the most absolute sense, in God's showing mercy to whom he will show mercy, and hardening whom he will, (jod's absolute sovereignty and justice, with respect to salvation and damnation, is what my mind seems to rest assured of, as much as of any thing that I see with my eyes; at least it is so at times. But I have often, since that first conviction, had quite another kind of sense of God's sovereignty than I had then. I have often since had not only a conviction, but a de- lightful conviction. The doctrine has very often appeared exceeding pleasant, bright, and sweet. Absolute sovereignty is what I love to ascribe to God. But my first conviction was not so. The first instance that I remember of that sort of inward, sweet delight in God and divine things that I have lived much in since, was on reading those words (I Timothy, i, 17): Now unto the King eternal^ immortal, invisible, the only wise God, be honor and glory for ever and ever, Amen. As I read the words, there came into my soul, and was as it were diffused through it, a sense of the glory of the Divine Being; a new sense, quite different from any thing I ever experienced before. Never any words of Scripture seemed to me as these words did. I thought within myself, how excellent a being that was, and how happy I should be, if I might enjoy that God, and be wrapt up in heaven, and be as it were swal- lowed up in him for ever! I kept saying, and as it were singing over these words of Scripture to myself; and went to pray to God that I might enjoy him, and prayed in a manner quite different from what I used to do; with a new sort of affection. But it never came into my thought that there was any thing spiritual, or of a saving nature in this. From about that time, I began to have a new kind of apprehensions and ideas of Christ, and the work of redemption, and the glorious way of salvation by him. An PERSONAL NARRATIVE 47 inward, sweet sense of these things, at times, came into my heart; and my soi 1 was led away in pleasant views and contemplations of them. And my mind was greatly engaged to spend my time in reading and meditating on Christ, on the beauty and excellency of his person, and the lovely way of salvation by free grace in him. I found no books so delightful to me, as those that treated of these subjects. Those words (Canticles, ii, i) used to be abundantly with me, / am the Rose of Sharon, arid the Lily of the valleys. The words seemed to me sweetly to represent the loveliness and beauty of Jesus Christ. The whole book of Canticles used to be pleasant to me, and I used to be much in reading it, about that time; and found, from time to time, an inward sweetness, that would carry me away, in my contemplations. This I know not how to express otherwise, than by a calm, sweet abstraction of soul from all the concerns of this world; and sometimes a kind of vision, or fixed ideas and imaginations, of being alone in the mountains, or some solitary wilderness, far from all mankind, sweetly conversing with Christ, and wrapt and swallowed up in God. The sense I had of divine things, would often of a sudden kindle up, as it were, a sweet burning in my heart; an ardor of soul, that I know not how to express. Not long after I began to experience these things, I gave an account to my father of some things that had passed in my mind. I was pretty much affected by the discourse we had together; and when the discourse was ended, I walked abroad alone, in a solitary place in my father's pasture for contemplation. And as I was walking there and looking up on the sky and clouds, there came into my mind so sweet a sense of the glorious majesty and grace of God, that I know not how to express. I seemed to see them both in a sweet conjunction; majesty and meekness joined together; it was a gentle, and holy majesty; and also a ma- jestic meekness; a high, great, and holy gentleness. After this my sense of divine things gradually increased, and became more and more lively, and had more of that inward sweetness. The appearance of every thing was altered; there seemed to be, as it were, a calm, sweet cast, or appearance of divine glory, in almost every thing. God's excel- lency, his wisdom, his purity and love, seemed to appear in every thing; in the sun, moon, and stars; in the clouds, and blue sky; in the grass, fiowers, trees; in the water, and all nature; which used greatly to fix my mind. I often used to sit and view the moon for continuance; and in the day, spent much time in viewing the clouds and sky, to behold the sweet glory of God in these things; in the mean time, singing forth, with a low voice, my contemplations of the Creator and Redeemer. And scarce any thing, among all the works of nature, was so delightful to me as thunder and lightning; formerly, nothing had been so terrible to me. Before, I used to be uncommonly terrified with thunder, and to be struck with terror when I saw a thunder storm rising; but now, on the contrary, it rejoiced me. I felt God, so to speak, at the first appearance of a thunder storm; and used to take the oppor- tunity, at such times, to fix myself in order to view the clouds, and see the lightnings play, and hear the majestic and awful voice of God's thunder, which oftentimes was exceedingly entertaining, leading me to sweet contemplations of my great and glorious God. While thus engaged, it always seemed natural to me to sing, or chant for my meditations; or, to speak my thoughts in soliloquies with a singing voice. I felt then great satisfaction, as to my good state; but that did not content me. I had vehement longings of soul after God and Christ, and after more holiness, wherewith my heart seemed to be full, and ready to break; which often brought to my mind the words of the Psalmist (Psalm cxix, 28): Aly soul breaketh for the longing it hath. I often felt a mourning and lamenting in my heart, that I had not turned to God sooner, that I might have had more time to grow in grace. My mind was greatly fixed on divine things; almost perpetually in the contemplation of them. I spent most of my time in thinking of divine things, year after year; often walk- ing alone in the woods, and solitary places, for meditation, soliloquy, and prayer, and converse with God; and it was always my manner, at such times, to sing forth my contemplations. I was almost constantly in ejaculatory prayer, wherever I was. Prayer seemed to be natural to me, as the breath hy 4.9 JONATHAN EDWARDS which the iiiw.ird hurnin^s of my lieart had vent. 1 he dehj:;hts which 1 now felt in the thinu;s of rehgion, were of an exceedinp;ly different kind from those before mentioned, that I had when a boy; and what I then had no more notion of, than one born bhnd has of pleasant and beautiful colors. They were of a more inward, pure, soul-animating, and refreshinc; nature. Those former delights never reached the heart; and did not arise from any sight of the divine excellency of the things of God; or any taste of the soul- satisfying and life-giving good there is in them. My sense of divine things seemed gradu- ally to increase, until I went to preach at New York, which was about a year and a half after they began; and while I was there, I felt them, very sensibly, in a higher degree than I had done before. My longings after God and holiness were much increased. Pure and humble, holy and heavenly Chris- tianity appeared exceedingly amiable to me. I felt a burning desire to be in every thing a complete Christian; and conform to the blessed image of Christ; and that I might live, in all things, according to the pure and blessed rules of the Gospel. I had an eager thirsting after progress in these things, which put me upon pursuing and pressing after them. It was my continual strife day and night, and constant inquiry, how I should be more holy, and live more holily, and more becoming a child of God, and a disciple of Christ. I now sought an increase of grace and holiness, and a holy life, with much more earnestness than ever I sought grace before I had it. I used to be continually examining myself, and studying and contriving for likely ways and means how I should live holily, with far greater diligence and earnest- ness than ever I pursued any thing in my life; but yet with too great a dependence on my own strength; which afterwards proved a great damage to me. My experience had not then taught me, as it has done since, my extreme feebleness and impotence, every manner of way; and the bottomless depths of secret corruption and deceit there was in my heart. However, I went on with my eager pursuit after more holiness, and conformit}'' to Christ. The heaven I desired was a heaven of holiness; to be with God, and to spend my eternity in divine love, and holy communion with Christ. My mind was very much taken up with contemplations on heaven, and the enjoyments there; and living there in perfect holiness, humility, and love. And it used at that time to appear a great part of the happiness of heaven, that there the saints could express their love to Christ. It ap- peared to me a great clog and burden, that what I felt within I could not express as I desired. The inward ardor of my soul seemed to be hindered and pent up, and could not freely flame out as it would. I used often to think, how in heaven this prin- ciple should freely and fully vent and express itself. Heaven appeared exceedingly delight- ful, as a world of love; and that all happiness consisted in living in pure, humble, heavenly, divine love. I remember the thoughts I used then to have of holiness; and said sometimes to myself, "I do certainly know that I love holiness, such as the Gospel prescribes." It appeared to me that there was nothing in it but what was ravishingly lovely; the highest beauty and amiableness — a divine beauty; far purer than any thing here upon earth; and that every thing else was like mire and defilement, in comparison of it. Holiness, as I then wrote down some of my contemplations on it, appeared to me to be of a sweet, pleasant, charming, serene, calm nature; which brought an inexpressible purity, brightness, peacefulness, and ravish- ment to the soul. In other words, that it made the soul like a field or garden of God, with all manner of pleasant flowers; all pleasant, delightful, and undisturbed; en- joying a sweet calm, and the gently vivifying beams of the sun. The soul of a true Chris- tian, as I then wrote my meditations, ap- peared like such a little white flower as we see in the spring of the year; low and humble on the ground, opening its bosom to receive the pleasant beams of the sun's glory; re- joicing as it were in a calm rapture; diffusing around a sweet fragrancy; standing peace- fully and lovingly, in the midst of other flowers round about; all in like manner opening their bosoms, to drink in the light of the sun. There was no part of creature holiness, that I had so great a sense of its loveliness, as humility, brokenness of heart and poverty of spirit; and there was nothing PERSONAL NARRATIVE 49 that I so earnestly longed for. My heart panted after this, to lie low before God, as in the dust; that I might be nothing, and that God might be ALL, that I might become as a little child. While at New York, I was sometimes much affected with reflections on my past life, considering how late it was before I began to be truly religious; and how wickedly I had lived till then; and once so as to weep abundantly, and for a con- siderable time together. On January 12, 1723, I made a solemn dedication of myself to God, and wrote it down; giving up myself, and all that I had to God; to be for the future in no respect my own; to act as one that had no right to himself, in any respect. And solemnly vowed to take God for my whole portion and felicity; looking on nothing else as any part of my happiness, nor acting as if it were; and his law for the constant rule of my obedi- ence; engaging to fight with all my might against the world, the flesh, and the devil, to the end of my life. But I have reason to be infinitely humbled, when I consider how much I have failed of answering my obliga- tion. I had then abundance of sweet religious conversation in the family where I lived, with Mr. John Smith and his pious mother. My heart was knit in aflPection to those in whom were appearances of true piety; and I could bear the thoughts of no other com- panions, but such as were holy, and the disciples of the blessed Jesus. I had great longings for the advancement of Christ's kingdom in the world; and my secret prayer used to be, in great part, taken up in praying for it. If I heard the least hint of any thing that happened, in any part of the world, that appeared, in some respect or other, to have a favorable aspect on the interest of Christ's kingdom, my soul eagerly catched at it; and it would much animate and refresh me. I used to be eager to read public news letters, mainly for that end; to see if I could not find some news favorable to the interest of religion in the world. I very frequently used to retire into a solitary place, on the banks of Hudson's river, at some distance from the city, for contemplation on divine things, and secret converse with God; and had many sweet hours there. Sometimes Mr. Smith and I walked there together, to converse on the things of God; and our conversation used to turn much on the advancement of Christ's kingdom in the world, and the glorious things that God would accomplish for his church in the latter days. I had then, and at other times, the greatest delight in the holy Scriptures, of any book whatsoever. Often- times in reading it, every word seemed to touch my heart. I felt a harmony between something in my heart, and those sweet and powerful words. I seemed often to see so much light exhibited by every sentence, and such a refreshing food communicated, that I could not get along in reading; often dwell- ing long on one sentence, to see the wonders contained in it; and yet almost every sen- tence seemed to be full of wonders. I came away from New York in the montli of April, 1723, and had a most bitter parting with Madam Smith and her son. My heart seemed to sink within me at leaving the family and city where I had enjoyed so many sweet and pleasant days. I went from New York to Weathersfield, by water, and as I sailed away I kept sight of the city as long as I could. However, that night, after this sorrowful parting, I was greatly comforted in God at Westchester, where we went ashore to lodge; and had a pleasant time of it all the voyage to Saybrook. It was sweet to me to think of meeting dear Christians in heaven, where we should never part more. At Saybrook we went ashore to lodge, on Saturday, and there kept the Sabbath; where I had a sweet and refreshing season, walking alone in the fields. After I came home to Windsor, I remained much in a like frame of mind as when at New York; only sometimes I felt my heart ready to sink with the thoughts of my friends at New York. My support was in contemplations on the heavenly state; as I find in my Diary of May i, 1723. It was a comfort to think of that state, where there is fullness of joy; where reigns heavenly, calm, and delightful love, without alloy; where there are continually the dearest expressions of this love; where is the enjoyment of the persons loved, without ever parting; where those persons who appear so lovely in this world, will really be inexpressibly more lovely and full of love to us. And how so JONATHAN EDWARDS sweetly will the nuitnal lovers join together to sing the praises of God and the Lamb! I low will it hll us with joy to think that this enjoyment, these sweet exercises, will never cease, but will last to all eternity! I con- tinued much in the same frame, in the gen- eral, as when at New York, till I went to New Haven as tutor to the college; particu- larly once at Bolton, on a journey from Boston, while walking out alone in the fields. After I went to New Haven I sunk in religion; my mind being diverted from my eager pursuits after holiness, by some affairs that greatly perplexed and distracted my thoughts. In September, 1725, I was taken ill at New Haven, and while endeavoring to go home to Windsor, was so ill at the North Village, that I could go no further; where I lay sick for about a quarter of a year. In this sickness God was pleased to visit me again with the sweet influences of his Spirit. My mind was greatly engaged there in divine, pleasant contemplations, and long- ings of soul. I observed that those who watched with me, would often be looking out wishfully for the morning; which brought to my mind those words of the Psalmist, and which my soul with delight made its own language. My soul zvaiteth for the Lordy more than they that watch for the morning, I say, more than they that watch for the morning; and when the light of day came in at the windows, it refreshed my soul from one morning to another. It seemed to be some image of the light of God's glory. I remember, about that time, I used greatly to long for the conversion of some that I was concerned with; I could gladly honor them, and with delight be a servant to them, and lie at their feet, if they were but truly holy. But, some time after this, I was again greatly diverted in my mind with some temporal concerns that exceed- ingly took up my thoughts, greatly to the wounding of my soul; and went on through various exercises, that it would be tedious to relate, which gave me much more experi- ence of my own heart, than ever I had before. Since I came to this town,^ I have often had sweet complacency in God, in views of his glorious perfections and the excellency of 1 Nortfiampton. Jesus Christ. God has appeared to me a glorious and lovely being, chiefly on the account of his holiness. The holiness of God has always appeared to me the most lovely of all his attributes. The doctrines of God's absolute sovereignty, and free grace, in showing mercy to whom he would show mercy; and man's absolute dependence on the operations of God's Holy Spirit, have very often appeared to me as sweet and glorious doctrines. These doctrines have been much my delight. God's sovereignty has ever appeared to me great part of his glory. It has often been my delight to approach God, and adore him as a sovereign God, and ask sovereign mercy of him. I have loved the doctrines of the Gospel; they have been to my soul like green pas- tures. The Gospel has seemed to me the richest treasure; the treasure that I have most desired, and longed that it might dwell richly in me. The way of salvation by Christ has appeared, in a general way, glorious and excellent, most pleasant and most beautiful. It has often seemed to me that it would in a great measure spoil heaven, to receive it in any other way. That text has often been affecting and delightful to me. Isaiah, xxxii, 2: A man shall be an hiding place from the windy and a covert from the tempest, etc. It has often appeared to me delightful to be united to Christ; to have him for my head, and to be a member of his body; also to have Christ for my teacher and prophet. I very often think with sweetness, and long- ings, and pantings of soul, of being a little child, taking hold of Christ, to be led by him through the wilderness of this world. That text, Matthew, xviii, 3, has often been sweet to me, except ye be coiiverted and become as little children, etc. I love to think of coming to Christ, to receive salvation of him, poor in spirit, and quite empty of self, humbly exalting him alone; cut off entirely from my own root, in order to grow into, and out of Christ; to have God in Christ to be all in all; and to live by faith on the Son of God, a life of humble unfeigned confidence in him. That Scripture has often been sweet to me, Psalm cxv, i : Not unto us, 0 Lord, not unto us, but to thy name give glory, for thy mercy and for thy truth's sake. And those words of Christ, Luke, x, 21: In that hour Jesus ie- PERSONAL NARRATIVE 51 joked in spirit , snd saidy I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these thiiigs from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them u7ito babes; even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight. That sovereignty of God which Christ rejoiced in, seemed to me worthy of such joy; and that rejoicing seemed to show the excellency of Christ, and of what spirit he was. Sometimes, only mentionmg a single word caused my heart to burn within me; or only seeing the name of Christ, or the name of some attribute of God. And God has appeared glorious to me, on account of the Trinity. It has made me have exalting thoughts of God, that he subsists in three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The sweetest joys and delights I have experienced have not been those that have arisen from a hope of my own good estate; but in a direct view of the glorious things of the Gospel. When I enjoy this sweetness, it seems to carry me above the thoughts of my own estate; it seems at such times a loss that I cannot bear, to take off my eye from the glorious pleasant object I behold without me, to turn my eye in upon myself, and my own good estate. My heart has been much on the advance- ment of Christ's kingdom in the world. The histories of the past advancment of Christ's kingdom have been sweet to me. When I have read histories of past ages, the pleasant- est thing in all my reading has been, to read of the kingdom of Christ being promoted. And when I have expected, in my reading, to come to any such thing, I have rejoiced in the prospect, all the way as I read. And my mind has been much entertained and de- lighted with the Scripture promises and prophecies, which relate to the future glori- ous advancement of Christ's kingdom upon earth. I have sometimes had a sense of the ex- cellent fullness of Christ, and his meetness and suitableness as a Savior; whereby he has appeared to me, far above all, the chief often thousands. His blood and atonement have appeared sweet, and his righteousness sweet; which was always accompanied with ardency of spirit; and inward strugglings and breathings, and groanings that cannot be uttered, to be emptied of myself, and swallowed up in Christ. Once as I rode out into the woods for my health, in 1737, having alighted from my horse in a retired place, as my manner com- monly has been, to walk for divine contem- plation and prayer, I had a view that for me was extraordinary, of the glory of the Son of God, as Mediator between God and man, and his wonderful, great, full, pure, and sweet grace and love, and meek and gentle condescension. This grace that appeared so calm and sweet, appeared also great above the heavens. The person of Christ appeared ineffably excellent with an excellency great enough to swallow up all thought and con- ception— which continued as near as I can judge, about an hour; which kept me the greater part of the time in a flood of tears, and weeping aloud. I felt an ardency of soul to be, what I know not otherwise how to express, emptied and annihilated; to lie in the dust, and to be full of Christ alone; to love him with a holy and pure love; to trust in him; to live upon him; to serve and follow him; and to be perfectly sanctified and made pure, with a divine and heavenly purity. I have, several other times, had views very much of the same nature, and which have had the same effects. I have many times had a sense of the glory of the third person in the Trinity, in his office of Sanctifier; in his holy operations, com- municating divine light and life to the soul. God, in the communications of his Holy Spirit, has appeared as an infinite fountain of divine glory and sweetness; being full, and sufficient to fill and satisfy the soul; pouring forth itself in sweet communica- tions; like the sun in its glory, sweetly and pleasantly diffusing light and life. And I have sometimes had an affecting sense of the excellency of the word of God, as a word of life; as the light of life; a sweet, excellent, life-giving word; accompanied with a thirst- ing after that word, that it might dwell richly in my heart. Often, since I lived in this town, I have had very affecting views of my own sinful- ness and vileness; very frequently to such a degree as to hold me in a kind of loud weeping, sometimes for a considerable time together; so that I have often been forced to shut myself up. I have had a vastly greater sense of my own wickedness, and the bad- ness of my own heart, than ever I had before 5^ JONATHAN EDWARDS my conversion. It has often appeared to me, that if Ciod should mark iniquity against me, I should appear the very worst of all mankind; of all that have been since the beginning of the world to this time; and that I should have by far the lowest place in hell. When others, that have come to talk with me about their soul concerns, have e.xpressed the sense they have had of their own wickedness, by saying that it seemed to them, that they were as bad as the devil himself; I thought their expression seemed exceedingly faint and feeble, to represent my wickedness. My wickedness, as I am in myself, has long appeared to me perfectly ineffable, and swallowing up all thought and imagination; like an infinite deluge, or mountains over my head. I know not how to express better what my sins appear to me to be, than by heaping infinite upon infinite, and multiply^ ing infinite by infinite. Very often, for these many years, these expressions are in my mind, and in my mouth, "Infinite upon infinite — Infinite upon infinite!" When I look into my heart, and take a view of my wickedness, it looks like an abyss infinitely deeper than hell. And it appears to me that were it not for free grace, exalted and raised up to the infinite height of all the fullness and glory of the great Jehovah, and the arm of his power and grace stretched forth in all the majesty of his power, and in all the glory of his sovereignty, I should appear sunk down in my sins below hell itself; far beyond the sight of every thing, but the eye of sovereign grace, that can pierce even down to such a depth. And yet, it seems to me, that my conviction of sin is exceedingly small, and faint; it is enough to amaze me, that I have no more sense of my sin. I know certainly, that I have very little sense of my sinfulness. When I have had turns of weeping and crying for my sins, I thought I knew at the time, that my repentance was nothing to my sin. I have greatly longed of late for a broken heart, and to lie low before God; and, when I ask for humility, I cannot bear the thoughts of being no more humble than other Chris- tians. It seems to me, that though their degrees of humility may be suitable for them, yet it would be a vile self-exaltation to me, not to be the lowest in humility of all mankind. Others speak of their longing to be "humbled to the dust." That may be a proper expression for them, but I always think of myself, that I ought, and it is an expression that has long been natural for me to use in prayer, "to lie infinitely low before God." And it is affecting to think how ignorant I was, when a young Christian, of the bottomless, mfinite depths of wicked- ness, pride, hypocrisy, and deceit, left in my heart. I have a much greater sense of my univer- sal, exceeding dependence on God's grace and strength, and mere good pleasure, of late, than I used formerly to have; and have experienced more of an abhorrence of my own righteousness. The very thought of any joy arising in me, on any consideration of my own amiableness, performances, or experiences, or any goodness of heart or life, is nauseous and detestable to me. And yet I am greatly afflicted with a proud and self- righteous spirit, much more sensibly than I used to be formerly. I see that serpent rising and putting forth its head continually, every where, all around me. Though it seems to me, that, in some respects, I was a far better Christian, for two or three years after my first conversion, than I am now; and lived in a more constant delight and pleasure; yet, of late years, I have had a more full and constant sense of the absolute sovereignty of God, and a de- light in that sovereignty; and have had more of a sense of the glory of Christ, as a Mediator revealed in the Gospel. On one Saturday night, in particular, I had such a discovery of the excellency of the Gospel above all other doctrines, that I could not but say to myself, "This is my chosen light, my chosen doctrine"; and of Christ, "This is my chosen Prophet." It appeared sweet, beyond all expression, to follow Christ, and to be taught, and enlightened, and instructed by him; to learn of him, and live to him. Another Saturday night (January, 1739), I had such a sense, how sweet and blessed a thing it was to walk in the way of duty; to do that which was right and meet to be done, and agreeable to the holy mind of God; that it caused me to break forth into a kind of loud weeping, which held me some time, so that I was forced to shut myself up, and fasten the doors. I could not but, as it were, THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM 53 cry out, "How happy are they which do that which is right in the sight of God! They are blessed indeed, they are the happy ones ! " I had, at the same time, a very affecting sense, how meet and suitable it was that God should govern the world, and order all things according to his own pleasure; and I rejoiced in it, that God reigned, and that his will was done. THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM, or THE CHRISTIAN'S LIFE A JOURNEY TOWARD HEAVEN Hebrews, xi, 13, 14: And confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country. The apostle is here exhibiting the excel- lency of faith, by its glorious effects and happy issue in the saints of the Old Testa- ment. Having enumerated examples of Abel, Enoch and Noah, of Abraham and Sarah, of Isaac and Jacob, he relates that all "these died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, were persuaded of them and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on earth." In these words the apostle seems more immediately to refer to Abraham and Sarah, and their kindred who came with them from Haran, and from Ur of the Chaldees, as appears by the fifteenth verse, where he says, "and truly if they had been mindful of that country whence they came out, they might have had opportunity to have returned." Two things may be here observed. I. The confession which they made con- cerning themselves to it, that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. Of this we have a particular account concerning Abraham, "I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. "J And it seems to have been a general sense of the patriarchs, by what Jacob says to Pharaoh. "And Jacob said to Pharaoh, the days of the years of my pilgrimage are an hundred and thirty years: few and evil have the days of the years of 1 Genesis, xxiii, 4. my hfe been, and have not attained to the days of the years of the life of my fathers in the days of their pilgrimage."^ "I am a stranger and a sojourner with thee, as all my fathers were."^ 2. The inference that the apostle draws from hence, m., that they sought another country as their home. " For they that say such things, declare plainly that they seek a country." In confessing that they were strangers, they plainly declared that this is not their country, that this is not the place where they are at home. And in confessing themselves to be pilgrims, they declared plainly that this is not their settled abode; but that they have respect to some other country, which they seek and to which they are traveling. SECTION I That this life ought to he so spent by us, as to he only a journey, or pilgrimage, tozuard heaven. Here I would observe, I. That we ought not to rest in the world and its enjoyments, but should desire heaven. We should seek first the kingdom of God.^ We ought above all things to desire a heavenly happiness, to be with God, and dwell with Jesus Christ. Though surrounded with out- ward enjoyments, and settled in families with desirable friends and relations; though we have companions whose society is de- lightful, and children in whom we see many promising qualifications; though we live by good neighbors, and are generally beloved where known; yet we ought not to take our rest in these things as our portion. We should be so far from resting in them that we should desire to leave them all, in God's due time. We ought to possess, enjoy, and use them, with no other view but readily to quit them, whenever we are called to it, and to change them willingly and cheerfully for heaven. A traveler is not wont to rest in what he meets with, however comfortable and pleas- ing on the road. If he passes through pleasant places, flowery meadows, or shady groves, he does not take up his content in these things, but only takes a transient view 2 Genesis, xlvii, 9. * Psalm xxxix, la. * St. Matthew, vi, 2;^. 54 JONATHAN EDWARDS of them as he ^oes along. He is not enticed by fine appearances to put off the thought of proceeding. No, but his journey's end is in his mind. If he meets with comfortable accommodations at an inn, he entertains no thoughts of setthng there. He considers that these things are not his own, that he is but a stranger; and when lie has refreshed himself, or tarried for a night, he is for going forward. And it is pleasant to him to think that so much of the way is gone. So should we desire heaven more than the comforts and enjoyments of this life. The apostle mentions it as an encouraging, com- fortable consideration to Christians, that they draw nearer their happiness. "Now is our salvation nearer than when we be- lieved." Our hearts ought to be loose to these things, as that of a man on a journey, that we may as cheerfully part with them whenever God calls. "But this I say, brethren, the time is short: it remaineth, that both they that have wives, be as though they had none; and they that weep, as though they wept not; and they that re- joice, as though they rejoiced not; and they that buy, as though they possessed not; and they that use this world, as not abusing it; for the fashion of this world passeth away.''^ — These things, as only lent to us for a little while, to serve a present turn; but we should set our hearts on heaven, as our inheritance for ever. 2. We ought to seek heaven by traveling m the way that leads thither. This is a w^ay of holiness. We should choose and desire to travel thither in this way and no other, and part with all those carnal appetites which as weights will tend to hinder us. "Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us. "2 However pleasant the gratification of any appetite may be, we must lay it aside, if it be any hindrance, or a stumbling-block in the way to heaven. We should travel on in the way of obedi- ence to all God's commands, even the difficult as well as the easy, denying all our smful inclinations and interests. The way to heaven is ascending; we must be content to travel up hill, though it be hard and tire- 1 I Corinthians, vii, 29-30. * Hebrews, xii, i. some, and contrary to the natural bias of our flesh. We should follow Christ; the path he traveled was the right way to heaven. We should take up our cross and follow him, in meekness and lowliness of heart, obedi- ence and charity, diligence to do good, and patience under afflictions. Ihe way to heaven is a heavenly life, an imitation of those who are in heaven, in their holy enjoyments, loving, adoring, serving, and praising God and the Lamb. Even if we could go to heaven with the gratification of our lusts, we should prefer a way of holiness and conformity to the spiritual self-denying rules of the gospel. 3. We should travel On in this way in a laborious manner. Long journeys are attended with toil and fatigue, especially if through a wilderness. Persons, in such a case, expect no other than to suffer hard- ships and weariness. So we should travel in this way of holiness, improving our time and strength, to surmount the difficulties and obstacles that are in the way. The land we have to travel through is a wilderness; there are many mountains, rocks, and rough places that we must go over, and, therefore, there is a necessity that we should lay out our strength. 4. Our whole lives ought to be spent in traveling this road. We ought to begin early. This should be the first concern, when persons become capable of acting. When they first set out in the zvorld, they should set out on this journey. And we ought to travel on with assiduity. It ought to be the work of every day. We should often think of our journey's end, and make it our daily work to travel on in the way that leads to it. He who is on a journey is often thinking of the destined place, and it is his daily care and business to get along, and to improve his time to get toward his journey's end. Thus should heaven be con- tinually in our thoughts; and the immediate entrance or passage to it, viz.^ death, should be present with us. We ought to persevere in this way as long as we live. "Let us run w^ith patience the race that is set before us." Though the road be diffi- cult, and toilsome, we must hold out with patience, and be content to endure hard- ships. Though the journey be long, yet we must not stop short, but hold on till we "HE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM S!^ arrive at the place we seek. Nor should we be discouraged with the length and diffi- culties of the way, as the children of Israel were, and be for turning back again. All our thought, and design, should be to press forward till we arrive. 5. We ought to be continually growing in holiness; and, in that respect, coming nearer and nearer to heaven. We should be endeavoring to come nearer to heaven in being more heavenly; becoming naore and more like the inhabitants of heaven, in respect of holiness, and conformity to God; the knowledge of God and Christ; in clear views of the glory of God, the beauty of Christ, and the excellency of divine things, as we come nearer to the beatific vision. We should labor to be continually growing in divine love — that this may be an increasing flame in our hearts, till they ascend wholly in this flame — in obedience and an heavenly conversation; that w^e may do the will of God on earth, as the angels do in heaven: in comfort and spiritual joy; in sensible communion with God and Jesus Christ. Our path should be as "the shining light, that shines more and more to the perfect day."i We ought to be hungering and thirsting after righteousness, after an in- crease in righteousness. "As new^-born babes desire the sincere milk of the word, that ye may grow thereby. "2 The perfection of heaven should be our mark. "This one thing I do: forgetting those things w^hich are behind, and reaching forth unto those things that are before, I press toward the mark, for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. "^ 6. All other concerns of life ought to be entirely subordinate to this. When a man is on a journey, all the steps he takes are subordinated to the aim of getting to his journey's end. And, if he carries money or provisions with him, it is to supply him in his journey. So we ought wholly to sub- ordinate all our other business, and all our temporal enjoyments, to this affair of traveling to heaven. When any thing we have becomes a clog and hindrance to us, we should quit it immediately. The use of our worldly enjoyments and possessions 1 Proverbs, iv, 18. - 1 Peter, ii, 2. 3 Philippians, iii, 13-I4. should be with such a view, and in such a manner, as to further us in our way heaven- ward. Thus we should eat, and drink, and clothe ourselves, and improve the conversa- tion and enjoyment of friends. And, what- ever business we are setting about, whatever design we are engaging in, we should inquire with ourselves whether this business, or undertaking, will forward us in our way to heaven.'' And, if not, we should quit our design. SECTION II IFhy the Christian's life is a journey or pilgrimage? I. This world is not our abiding place. Our continuance here is but very short. Man's days on the earth are as a shadow. It was never designed by God that this world should be our home. Neither did God give us these temporal accommodations for that end. If God has given us ample estates, and children, or other pleasant friends, it is with no such design that we should be fur- nished here as for a settled abode, but with a design that we should use them for the present, and then leave them in a very little time. When w^e are called to any secular business, or charged with the care of a family, if we improve our lives to any other purpose than as a journey toward heaven, all our labor will be lost. If we spend our lives in the pursuit of a temporal happiness; as riches, or sensual pleasures, credit and esteem from men, delight in our children, and the prospect of seeing them well brought up, and well settled, etc. — all these things will be of little significancy to us. Death will blow up all our hopes, and will put an end to these enjoyments. "The places that have known us will know us no more," and "the eye that has seen us shall see us no more." We must be taken away for ever from all these things; and it is uncertain when: it may be soon after we are put into the possession of them. And then, where will be all our worldly employments and enjoyments, when we are laid in the silent grave! "So man lieth down, and riseth not again, till the heavens be no more."^ 2. The future world was designed to be our settled and everlasting abode. There it < Job, xiv, 12. 5^ JONATHAN EDWARDS was intended that we should he fixed; nnd there alone is a lastinc; hahimnon, and a lasting: inheritance. Ihe present state is short and transitory, but our state in the other world is everlasting. And as we are there at first, so must we be without change. Our state in the future world, therefore, being eternal, is of so much greater im- portance than our state here that all our concerns in this world should be wholly subordmated to it. 3. Heaven is that place alone where our highest end and highest good is to be ob- tained. God hath made us for himself. "Of him, and through him, and to him are all things." Therefore, then do we attain to our highest end when we are brought to God: but that is by being brought to heaven; for that is God's throne, the place of his special presence. There is but a very imperfect union with God to be had in this world, a very imperfect knowledge of him in the midst of much darkness, a very im- perfect conformity to God, mingled with abundance of estrangement. Here we can serve and glorify God, but in a very im- perfect manner; our service being mingled with sin, which dishonors God. But when we get to heaven (if that ever be), we shall be brought to a perfect union with God, and have more clear views of him. There we shall be fully conformed to God, without any remaining sin: for "we shall see him as he is." There we shall serve God per- fectly, and glorify him in an exalted manner, even to the utmost of the powers and capacity of our nature. Then we shall perfectly give up ourselves to God: our hearts will be pure and holy offerings, pre- sented in a flame of divine love. God is the highest good of the reasonable creature; and the enjoyment of him is the only happiness with which our souls can be satisfied. To go to heaven fully to enjoy God, is infinitely better than the most pleasant accommodations here. Fathers and mothers, husbands, wives, or children, or the company of earthly friends, are but shadows; but the enjoyment of God is the substance. These are but scattered beams, but God is the sun. These are but streams, but God is the fountain. These are but drops, but God is the ocean. Therefore it becomes us to spend this life only as a journey toward heaven, as it becomes us to make the seeking of our highest end and proper good the whole work of our lives, to which we should subordinate all other con- cerns of life. Why should we labor for, or set our hearts on any thing else, but that w'hich is our proper end and true happiness? 4. Our present state, and all that belongs to it, is designed by him that made all things to be wholly in order to another world. This world was made for a place of preparation for another. Man's mortal life was given him that he might be prepared for his fixed state. And all that God has here given us is given to this purpose. The sun shines, and the rain falls upon us, and the earth yields her increase to us for this end. Civil, ecclesiastical, and family affairs, and all our personal concerns, are designed and ordered in subordination to a future world by the maker and disposer of all things. To this, therefore, they ought to be subordinated by us. SECTION III Instruction afforded by the consideration that life is a journey ^ or pilgrimage ^ toward heaven. I. This doctrine may teach us moderation in our mourning for the loss of such dear friends who, while they lived, improved their lives to right purposes. If they lived a holy life, then their lives were a journey toward heaven. And why should we be immoderate in mourning, when they are got to their journey's end.' Death, though it appears to us with a frightful aspect, is to them a great blessing. Their end is happy, and better than their beginning. " The day of their death is better than the day of their birth.'* "^ While they lived, they desired heaven, and chose it above this world, or any of its enjoyments. For this they earnestly longed, and why should we grieve that they have obtained it.^ Now they have got to their Father's house. They find more comfort a thousand times, now they are got home, than they did in their journey. In this world they underwent much labor and toil; it was a wilderness they passed through. There were many diflficulties in the way — mountains and rough places. It was labori- 1 Ecclesiastes, vli, 1. THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM 57 ous and fatiguing to travel the road, and they had many wearisome days and nights; but now they have got to their everlasting rest. "And I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, \\ rite, blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them."i They look back upon the difficulties, and sorrows, and dangers of life, rejoicing that they have surmounted them all. We are ready to look upon death as their calamity, and to mourn that those who were so dear to us should be in the dark grave; that they are there transformed to cor- ruption and worms; taken away from their dear children and enjoyments, etc., as though they were m awful circumstances. But this is owing to our infirmity; they are in a happy condition, inconceivably blessed. They do not mourn, but rejoice with exceed- ing joy: their mouths are filled with joyful songs, and they drink at rivers of pleasure. They find no mixture of grief that they have changed their earthly enjoyments, and the company of mortals, for heaven. Their life here, though in the best circumstances, was attended with much that was adverse and afflictive: but now there is an end to all adversity. "They shall hunger no more, nor thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." 2 It is true, we shall see them no more in this world, yet we ought to consider that we are traveling toward the same place; and why should we break our hearts that they have got there before us.^" We are following after them, and hope, as soon as we get to our journey's end, to be with them again, in better circumstances. A degree of mourning for near relations when departed is not inconsistent with Christianity, but very agreeable to it; for as long as we are flesh and blood we have animal propensities and aflfections. But we have just reason that our mourning should be mingled with joy. "But I would not have you be igno- rant, brethren, concerning them that are 1 Revelation, xiv, 13. 'Revelation, vii, 16-17. asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others that have no hope";^ — i. e., that they should not sorrow as the Heathen, who had no knowledge of a future happiness. This appears by the following verse: ^^ For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again^ even so them also which sleep in Jesus, will God bring with him.'' 2. If our lives ought to be only a journey toward heaven, how ill do they improve their lives that spend them in traveling toward hell.^ Some men spend their whole lives, from their infancy to their dying day, in going down the broad way to destruction. They not only draw nearer to hell as to time, but they every day grow more ripe for destruction; they are more assimilated to the inhabitants of the infernal world. While others press forward in the straight and narrow way to life, and laboriously travel up the hill toward Zion, against the inclina- tions and tendency of the flesh, these run with a swift career down to eternal death. This is the employment of every day, with all wicked men; and the whole day is spent in it. As soon as ever they awake in the morning they set out anew in the way to hell, and spend every waking moment in it. They begin in early days. "The wicked are estranged from the womb, they go astray as soon as they are born, speaking lies."^ They hold on it with perseverance. Many of them who live to be old are never weary in it; though they live to be an hundred years old, they will not cease traveling in the way to hell, till they arrive there. And all the concerns of life are subordinated to this employment. A wicked man is a servant of sin; his powers and faculties are employed in the service of sin, and in fitness for hell. And all his possessions are so used by him as to be subservient to the same purpose. Men spend their time in treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath. Thus do all un- clean persons, who live in lascivious practices in secret; all malicious persons; all profane persons, that neglect the duties of religion. Thus do all unjust persons, and those who are fraudulent and oppressive in their deal- ings. Thus do all backbiters and revilers; all covetous persons, that set their hearts chiefly on the riches of this world. Thus do 3 1 Thessalonians, iv, 13. * Psalm xlviii, 4. 58 JONATHAN EDWARDS tavern-haunters, and frequenters of evil company; and many other kinds that might be mentioned. Thus the bulk of mankind are hastening onward in the broad way to destruction; which is, as it were, filled up with the multitude that are going in it with one accord. And they are every day gomg to hell out of this broad way by thousands. Multitudes are continually flowing down into the great lake of fire and brimstone, as some mighty river constantly disembogues its water into the ocean. 3. Hence when persons are converted they do but begin their work, and set out in the way they have to go. They never till then do any thing at that work in which their whole lives ought to be spent. Persons before conversion never take a step that way. Then does a man first set out on his journev, when he is brought home to Christ; and so far is he from having done his work, that his care and labor in his Christian work and business is then but begun, in which he must spend the remaining part of his life. Those persons do ill who, when they are converted, and have obtained a hope of their being in a good condition, do not strive as earnestly as they did before, while they were under awakenings. They ought, hence- forward, as long as they live, to be as earnest and laborious, as watchful and careful as ever; yea, they should increase more and more. It is no just excuse, that now they have obtained conversion. Should not we be as diligent that we may serve and glorify God as that we ourselves may be happy? And if we have obtained grace, yet we ought to strive as much that we may obtain the other degrees that are before, as we did to obtain that small degree that is behind. The apostle tells us, that he forgot what was behind, and reached forth toward what was before. 1 Yea, those who are converted have now a further reason to strive for grace; for they have seen something of its excellency. A man who has once tasted the blessings of Canaan has more reason to press toward it than he had before. And they who are converted should strive to "make their calling and election sure." All those who are converted are not sure of it; and those who are sure, do not know that they shall ^ Philippians, iii, 13. be always so; and still seeking and serving God with the utmost diligence is the way to have assurance, and to have it maintained. SECTION IV An exhortation so to spend the present life that It may only be a journey tozvard heaven. Labor to obtain such a disposition of mind that you may choose heaven for your inheritance and home, and may earnestly long for it, and be willing to change this world, and all its enjoyments, for heaven. Labor to have your heart taken up so much about heaven, and heavenly enjoyments, as that you may rejoice when God calls you to leave your best earthly friends and comforts for heaven, there to enjoy God and Christ. Be persuaded to travel in the way that leads to heaven; viz., in holiness, self-denial, mortification, obedience to all the com- mands of God, following Christ's example, in a way of a heavenly life, or imitation of the saints and angels in heaven. Let it be your daily work, from morning till night, and hold out in it to the end; let nothing stop or discourage you, or turn you aside from this road. And let all other concerns be subordinated to this. Consider the rea- sons that have been mentioned why you should thus spend your life; that this world IS not your abiding place, that the future world is to be your everlasting abode; and that the enjoyments and concerns of this world are given entirely in order to another. And consider further for motive, I. How worthy is heaven that your life should be wholly spent as a journey toward it. To what better purpose can you spend your life, whether you respect your duty or your interest.' What better end can you propose to your journey than to obtain heaven.'' You are placed in this world, with a choice given you, that you may travel which way you please; and one way leads to heaven. Now can you direct your course better than this way.' All men have some aim or other in living. Some mainly seek worldly things; they spend their days in such pursuits. But is not heaven, where is fullness of joy for ever, much more worthy to be sought by you.^ How can you better employ your strength, use your means, and spend your days, than in traveling the road THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM 59 that leads to the everlasting enjoyment of God, to his glorious presence, to the new Jerusalem, to the heavenly Mount Zion, where all your desires will be filled, and no danger of ever losing your happiness? No man is at home in this world, whether he choose heaven or not; here he is but a transient person. Where can you choose your home better than in heaven? 2. This is the way to have death com- fortable to us. To spend our lives so as to be only a-journeying toward heaven is the way to be free from bondage, and to have the prospect and forethought of death comfortable. Does the traveler think of his journey's end with fear and terror? Is it terrible to him to think that he has almost got to his journey's end? Were the children of Israel sorry, after forty years' travel in the wilderness, when they had almost got to Canaan? This is the way to be able to part with the world without grief. Does it grieve the traveler, when he has got home, to quit his staff and load of provisions that he had to sustain him by the way? 3. No more of your life will be pleasant to think of when you come to die, than has been spent after this manner. If you have spent none of your life this way, your whole life will be terrible to you to think of, unless you die under some great delusion. You will see then, that all of your life that has been spent otherwise is lost. You will then see the vanity of all other aims that you may have proposed to yourself. The thought of what you here possessed and enjoyed will not be pleasant to you, unless you can think also that you have subordinated them to this purpose. 4. Consider that those who are willing thus to spend their lives as a journey toward heaven, may have heaven. Heaven, how- ever high and glorious, is attainable for such poor worthless creatures as we are. We may attain that glorious region which is the habitation of angels; yea, the dwelling- place of the Son of God; and where is the glorious presence of the great Jehovah. And we may have it freely, without money and without price; if we are but willing to travel the road that leads to it, and bend our course that way as long as we live, we may and shall have heaven for our eternal resting place. 5. Let it be considered, that if our lives be not a journey toward heaven they will be a journey to hell. All mankind, after they have been here a short while, go to either of the two great receptacles of all that depart out of this world; the one is heaven, whither a small number, in comparison, travel; and the other is hell, whither the bulk of mankind throng. And one or the other of these must be the issue of our course in this world. I shall conclude by giving a few directions: 1. Labor to get a sense of the vanity of this world; on account of the little satisfac- tion that is to be enjoyed here; its short continuance, and unserviceableness when we most stand in need of help, viz., on a death- bed. All men that live any considerable time in the world might see enough to con- vince them of its vanity, if they would but consider. Be persuaded, therefore, to exer- cise consideration when you see and hear, from time to time, of the death of others. Labor to turn your thoughts this way. See the vanity of the world in such a glass. 2. Labor to be much acquainted with heaven. If you are not acquainted with it, you will not be likely to spend your life as a journey thither. You will not be sensible of its worth, nor will you long for it. Unless you are much conversant in your mind with a better good, it will be exceeding difficult to you to have your hearts loose from these things, and to use them only in subordina- tion to something else, and be ready to part with them for the sake of that better good. Labor, therefore, to obtain a realizing sense of a heavenly world, to get a firm belief of its reality, and to be very much conversant with it in your thoughts. 3. Seek heaven only by Jesus Christ. Christ tells us that he is the way, and the truth, and the life.^ He tells that he is the door of the sheep. "I am the door, by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved; and go in and out and find pasture." 2 If we, therefore, would improve our lives as a journey toward heaven, we must seek it by him, and not by our own righteousness; as expecting to obtain it only for his sake, look- ing to him, having our dependence on him, who has procured it for us by his merit. 1 St. John, xiv, 6 2 St. John, X, 9. 6o JONATHAN EDWARDS And expect strength to walk in holiness, the way that leads to heaven, only from him. 4. Let Christians help one another in going this journey. There are many ways whereby Christians might greatly forward one another in their way to heaven, as by religious conference, etc. Therefore let them be exhorted to go this journey as it were m company, conversing together, and assisting one another. Company is very desirable in a journey, but in none so much as this. Let them go united, and not fall out by the way, which would be to hinder one another; but use all means they can to help each other up the hill. This would insure a more suc- cessful traveling, and a more joyful meeting at their Father's house in glory. SINNERS IN THE HANDS OF AN ANGRY GOD 1 Deuteronomy, xxxii, 35: Their foot shall slide in due time. In this verse is threatened the vengeance of God on the wicked unbelieving Israelites, who were God's visible people, and who lived under the means of grace; but who, not- withstanding all God's wonderful works toward them, remained (as ver. 28) void of counsel, having no understanding in them. Under all the cultivations of heaven they brought forth bitter and poisonous fruit — as in the two verses next preceding the text. — The expression I have chosen for my text, Their foot shall slide in due time, seems to imply the following things, relating to the punishment and destruction to which these wicked Israelites were exposed. I. That they were always exposed to destruction; as one that stands or walks in slippery places is always exposed to fall. This is implied in the manner of their de- struction coming upon them, being repre- sented by their foot sliding. The same is expressed. Psalm Ixxiii, i8: "Surely thou 1 Preached at Enfield, 3 July, 1741, at a time of great awakenings, and attended with remarkable impres- sions on many of the hearers (Dwight). Published at Boston in the same year, at Edinburgh in 1745, and at New York in 1753. It is perhaps necessary to point out that the preceding sermon is as essential as this one to an understanding alike of Edwards's beliefs and of New England Puritanism. didst set them in slippery places; thou castedst them down into destruction." 2. It implies that they were always ex- posed to sudden, unexpected destruction. As he that walks in slippery places is every moment liable to fall, he cannot foresee one moment whether he shall stand or fall the next; and when he does fall, he falls at once without warning: Which is also expressed in Psalm Ixxiii, 18, 19: "Surely thou didst set them in slippery places; thou castedst them down into destruction: How are they brought into desolation as in a moment!" 3. Another thing implied is, that they are liable to fall of themselves, without being thrown down by the hand of another; as he that stands or walks on slippery ground needs nothing but his own weight to throw him down. 4. That the reason why they are not fallen already, and do not fall now, is only that God's appointed time is not come. For it is said that when that due time, or ap- pointed time comes, their foot shall slide. Then they shall be left to fall, as they are inclined by their own weight. God will not hold them up in these slippery places any longer, but will let them go; and then, at that very instant, they shall fall into destruc- tion; as he that stands on such slippery declining ground, on the edge of a pit, he cannot stand alone, when he is let go he immediately falls and is lost. The observation from the words that I would now insist upon is this: "There is nothing that keeps wicked men at any one moment out of hell, but the mere pleasure of God." By the mere pleasure of God, I mean his sovereign pleasure, his arbitrary will, restrained by no obligation, hmdered by no manner of difficulty, any more than if nothing else but God's mere will had in the least degree, or in any respect whatso- ever, any hand in the preservation of wicked men one moment. The truth of this observa- tion may appear by the following considera- tions. I. There is no want of pozver in God to cast wicked men into hell at any moment. Men's hands cannot be strong when God rises up. The strongest have no power to resist him, nor can any deliver out of his hands. He is not only able to cast wicked men into hell, but he can most easily do it. SINNERS IN THE HANDS OF AN ANGRY GOD 6i Sometimes an earthly prince meets with a great deal of difficulty to subdue a rebel, who has found means to fortify himself, and has made himself strong by the numbers of his followers. But it is not so with God. There is no fortress that is any defense from the power of God. Though hand join in hand, and vast multitudes of God's enemies combine and associate themselves, they are easily broken in pieces. They are as great heaps of light chaff before the whirlwind, or large quantities of dry stubble before de- vouring flames. We find it easy to tread on and crush a worm that we see crawling on the earth; so it is easy for us to cut or singe a slender thread that any thing hangs by: thus easy is it for God, when he pleases, to cast his enemies down to hell. What are we, that we should think to stand before him, at whose rebuke the earth trembles, and before whom the rocks are thrown down } 2. They deserve to be cast into hell; so that divine justice never stands in the way, it makes no objection against God's using his power at any moment to destroy them. Yea, on the contrary, justice calls aloud for an infinite punishment of their sins." Divine justice says of the tree that brings forth such grapes of Sodom: "Cut it down, why cum- bereth it the ground?" (Luke, xiii, 7.) The sword of divine justice is every moment brandished over their heads, and it is nothing but the hand of arbitrary mercy, and God's mere will, that holds it back. 3. They are already under a sentence of condemnation to hell. They do not only justly deserve to be cast down thither, but the sentence of the law of God, that eternal and immutable rule of righteousness that God has fixed between him and mankind, is gone out against them, and stands against them, so that they are bound over already to hell. John, iii, 18: "He that believeth not is condemned already." So that every unconverted man properly belongs to hell; that is his place; from thence he is. John, viii, 23: "Ye are from beneath." And thither he is bound; it is the place that justice, and God's word, and the sentence of his unchangeable law assign to him. 4. They are now the objects of that very same anger and wrath of God that is ex- pressed in the torments of hell. And the reason why they do not go down to hell at each moment is not because God, in whose power they are, is not then very angry with them; as he is with many miserable creatures now tormented in hell, who there feel and bear the fierceness of his wrath. Yea, God is a great deal more angry with great num- bers that are now on earth: yea, doubtless, with many that are now in this congregation, who it may be are at ease, than he is with many of those who are now in the flames of hell. So that it is not because God is unmindful of their wickedness, and does not resent it, that he does not let loose his hand and cut them off. God is not altogether such an one as themselves, though they may imagine him to be so. The wrath of God burns against them, their damnation does not slumber; the pit is prepared, the fire is made ready, the furnace is now hot, ready to receive them; the flames do now rage and glow. The glittering sword is whet, and held over them, and the pit hath opened its mouth under them. 5. The devil stands ready to fall upon them, and seize them as his own, at what moment God shall permit him. They belong to him; he has their souls in his possession, and under his dominion. The Scripture represents them as his goods (Luke, xi, 12). The devils watch them; they are ever by them at their right hand; they stand wait- ing for them, like greedy hungry lions that see their prey, and expect to have it, but are for the present kept back. If God should withdraw his hand, by which they are restrained, they would in one moment fly upon their poor souls. The old serpent is gaping for them; hell opens its mouth wide to receive them; and if God should permit it they would be hastily swallowed up and lost. 6. There are in the souls of wicked men those hellish principles reigning, that would presently kindle and flame out into hell fire, if it were not for God's restraints. There is laid in the very nature of carnal men a foundation for the torments of hell. There are those corrupt principles in reigning power in them, and in full possession of them, that are seeds of hell fire. These principles are active and powerful, exceeding violent in their nature, and if it were not for the 62 JONATHAN EDWARDS restratmnj; hand of Ciotl upon them tluv would soon break out, they would flanie out after the same manner as the same corruptions, the same enmity does m the hearts of damned souls, and would beget the same torments as they do in them. The souls of the wicked are in Scripture compared to the troubled sea (Isaiah, Ivii, 20). For the present, God restrains their wickedness by his mighty power, as he does the raging waves of the troubled sea, saying: "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further"; but if God should withdraw that restraining power it would soon carry all before it. Sin is the ruin and misery of the soul; it is destructive in its nature; and if God should leave it without restraint there would need nothing else to make the soul perfectly miserable. The corruption of the heart of man is im- moderate and boundless in its fury; and while wicked men live here it is like fire pent up by God's restraints, whereas if it were let loose it would set on fire the course of nature; and as the heart is now a sink of sin, so, if sin was not restrained, it would immediately turn the soul into a fiery oven, or a furnace of fire and brimstone. 7. It is no security to wicked men for one moment that there are no visible means of death at hand. It is no security to a natural man that he is now in health, and that he does not see which way he should now immediately go out of the world by any accident, and that there is no visible danger in any respect in his circumstances. The manifold and continual experience of the world in all ages shows this is no evidence that a man is not on the very brink of eternit}^ and that the next step will not be into another world. The unseen, un- thought-of ways and means of persons going suddenly out of the world are in- numerable and inconceivable. Unconverted men walk over the pit of hell on a rotten covering, and there are innumerable places in this covering so weak that they will not bear their weight, and these places are not seen. The arrows of death fly unseen at noon-day; the sharpest sight cannot dis- cern them. God has so many different unsearchable ways of taking wicked men out of the world and sending them to hell, that there is nothing to make it appear that God had need to be at the expense of a I miracle, or go out of the ordinary course of his providence, to destroy any wicked man, at any moment. All the means that there are of sinners going out of the world, are so in God's hands, and so universallv and ab.solutely subject to his power and determi- nation, that it does not depend at all the less on the mere will of God, whether sinners shall at any moment go to hell, than if means were never made use of, or at all concerned in the case. 8. Natural men's prudence and care to preserve their own lives, or the care of others to preserve them, do not secure them a moment. To this, divine providence and universal experience do also bear testimony. There is this clear evidence that men's own wisdom is no security to them from death: that if it were otherwise we should see some difference between the wise and politic men of the world, and others, with regard to their liableness to early and unexpected death: but how is it in fact.'' Ecclesiastes, ii, 16: "How dieth the wise man.'* even as the fool." 9. All wicked men's pains and contrivance which they use to escape hell, while they continue* to reject Christ, and so remain wicked men, do not secure them from hell one moment. Almost every natural man that hears of hell flatters himself that he shall escape it; he depends upon himself for his own security; he flatters himself in what he has done, in what he is now doing, or what he intends to do. Every one lays out matters in his own mind how he shall avoid damnation, and flatters himself that he contrives well for himself, and that his schemes will not fail. They hear indeed that there are but few saved, and that the greater part of men that have died heretofore are gone to hell; but each one imagines that he lays out matters better for his own escape than others have done. He does not intend to come to that place of torment; he says wMthin himself that he intends to take effectual care, and to order matters so for himself as not to fail. But the foolish children of men miserably delude themselves in their own schemes, and in confidence in their own strength and wnsdom; they trust to nothing but a shadow. The greater part of those who heretofore have lived under the same means of grace^ SINNERS IN THE HANDS OF AN ANGRY GOD 63 and are now dead, are undoubtedly gone to hell; and it was not because they were not as wise as those who are now alive; it was not because they did not lay out matters as well for themselves to secure their own eseape. If we could speak with them, and inquire of them, one by one, whether they expected, when alive, and when they used to hear about hell, ever to be the subjects of that misery, we doubtless should hear one and another reply: "No, I never intended to come here; I had laid out matters other- wise in my mind; I thought I should con- trive well for myself; I thought my scheme good. I intended to take effectual care; but it came upon me unexpected; I did not look for it at that time, and in that manner; it came as a thief: Death outwitted me: God's wrath was too quick for me. Oh, my cursed foolishness! I was flattering myself, and pleasing myself with vain dreams of what I would do hereafter; and when I was saying, Peace and safety, then suddenly destruction came upon me." 10. God has laid himself under no obliga- tion, by any promise to keep any natural man out of hell one moment. God certainly has made no promises either of eternal life, or of any deliverance or preservation from eternal death, but what are contained in the covenant of grace, the promises that are given in Christ, in whom all the promises are yea and amen. But surely they have no interest in the promises of the covenant of grace who are not the children of the cove- nant, who do not believe in any of the promises, and have no interest in the Mediator of the covenant. So that, whatever some have imagined and pretended about promises made to natural men's earnest seeking and knocking, it is plain and manifest that, whatever pains a natural man takes in religion, whatever prayers he makes, till he believes in Christ God is under no manner of obligation to keep him a moment from eternal destruction. So that thus it is, that natural men are held in the hand of God, over the pit of hell; they have deserved the fiery pit, and are already sentenced to it; and God is dread- fully provoked, his anger is as great toward them as to those that are actually suffering the executions of the fierceness of his wrath in hell, and they have done nothing in the least to appease or abate that anger, neither is God in the least bound by any promise to hold them up one moment; the devil is waiting for them, hell is gaping for them, the flames gather and flash about them, and would fain lay hold on them, and swallow them up; the fire pent up in their own hearts is struggling to break out; and they have no interest in any Mediator, there are no means within reach that can be any security to them. In short, they have no refuge, nothing to take hold of; all that preserves them every moment is the mere arbitrary will, and unconvenanted, un- obliged forbearance of an incensed God. Application The use of this awful subject may be for awakening unconverted persons in this congregation. This that you have heard is the case of every one of you that are out of Christ. That world of misery, that lake of burning brimstone, is extended abroad under you. There is the dreadful pit of the glow- ing flames of the wrath of God; there is hell's wide gaping mouth open; and you have nothing to stand upon, nor any thing to take hold of; there is nothing between you and hell but the air; it is only the power and mere pleasure of God that holds you up. You probably are not sensible of this; you find you are kept out of hell, but do not see the hand of God in it, but look at other things, as the good state of your bodily constitution, your care of your own life, and the means you use for your own preser- vation. But indeed these things are nothing; if God should withdraw his hand they would avail no more to keep you from falling than the thin air to hold up a person that is suspended in it. Your wickedness makes you as it were heavy as lead, and to tend downward with great weight and pressure toward hell; and if God should let you go you would immedi- ately sink and swiftly descend and plunge into the bottomless gulf, and your healthy constitution, and your own care and pru- dence, and best contrivance, and all your righteousness, would have no more influence to uphold you and keep you out of hell than a spider's web would have to stop a fallen rock. Were it not for the sovereign pleasure of God, the earth would not bear 64 JONATHAN EDWARDS you one iiioiiunt; for you are a burden to it; the creation groans with you; the creature is made subject to the bondage of your corrujition, not willingly; the sun does not willingly shine upon you to give you light to serve sin and Satan; the earth does not willingly yield her increase to satisfy your lusts; nor is it willingly a stage for 3'our wickedness to be acted upon; the air does not willingly serve you for breath to main- tain the flame of life in your vitals, while you spend your life in the service of God's enemies. God's creatures are good, and were made for men to serve God w^ith, and do not willingly subserve to any other pur- pose, and groan when they are abused to purposes so directly contrary to their nature and end. And the world would spew you out, were it not for the sovereign hand of him who hath subjected it in hope. There are black clouds of God's wrath now hang- ing directly over your heads, full of the dreadful storm, and big with thunder; and were it not for the restraining hand of God it would immediately burst forth upon you. The sovereign pleasure of God, for the present, stays his rough wind; otherwise it would come with fury, and your destruction would come like a whirlwind, and you would be like the chaflf of the summer threshing floor. The wrath of God is like great waters that are dammed for the present; they increase more and more, and rise higher and higher, till an outlet is given; and the longer the stream is stopped the more rapid and mighty is its course, w^hen once it is let loose. It is true, that judgment against your evil works has not been executed hitherto; the floods of God's vengeance have been withheld; but your guilt in the meantime is constantly increasing, and you are every day treasuring up more wrath; the waters are constantly rising, and waxing more and more mighty; and there is nothing but the mere pleasure of God that holds the waters back, that are unwilling to be stopped, and press hard to go forward. If God should only withdraw his hand from the flood-gate, it would immediately fly open, and the fiery floods of the fierceness and wrath of God would rush forth with inconceivable fury, and would come upon you with omnipo- tent power; and if your strength were ten thousand tunes greater than it is, yea, ten thousand times greater than the strength of the stoutest, sturdiest devil in hell, it would be nothing to withstand or endure it. The bow of God's wrath is bent, and the arrow made ready on the string, and justice bends the arrow at your heart, and strains the bow, and it is nothing but the mere pleasure of God, and that of an angry God, without any promise or obligation at all, that keeps the arrow one moment from being made drunk with your blood. Thus all you that never passed under a great change of heart, by the mighty power of the Spirit of God upon your souls; all you that were never born again, and made new creatures, and raised from being dead in sin, to a state of new, and before altogether unexperienced light and life, are in the hands of an angry God. However you may have reformed your life in many things, and may have had religious affections, and may keep up a form of religion in your families and closets, and in the house of God, it is nothing but his mere pleasure that keeps you from being this moment swallowed up in ever- lasting destruction. However unconvinced you may now be of the truth of what you hear, by and by you will be fully convinced of it. Those that are gone from being in the like circumstances with you see that it was so with them; for destruction came sud- denly upon most of them, when they expected nothing of it, and while they were saying. Peace and safety; now they see that those things on which they depended for peace and safety were nothing but thin air and empty shadows. The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked; his wrath toward you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the fire; he is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in his eyes than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours. You have oflFended him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince; and yet it is nothing but his hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment. It is to be ascribed to nothing else that you did not go to hell the SINNERS IN THE HANDS OF AN ANGRY GOD 65 last night; that you was suffered to awake again in this world, after you closed your eyes to sleep. And there is no other reason to be given why you have not dropped into hell since you arose in the morning, but that God's hand has held you up. There is no other reason to be given why you have not gone to hell since you have sat here in the house of God, provoking his pure eyes by your sinful wicked manner of attending his solemn worship. Yea, there is nothing else that is to be given as a reason why you do not this very moment drop down into hell. O sinner! Consider the fearful danger you are in: it is a great furnace of wrath, a wide and bottomless pit, full of the fire of wrath, that you are held over in the hand of that God whose wrath is provoked and incensed as much against you as against many of the damned in hell. You hang by a slender thread, with the flames of divine wrath flashing about it, and ready every moment to singe it, and burn it asunder; and you have no interest in any Mediator, and nothing to lay hold of to save yourself, nothing to keep off the flames of wrath, nothing of your own, nothing that you ever have done, nothing that you can do, to induce God to spare you one moment. — And consider here more particularly, I. Whose wrath it is: it is the wrath of the infinite God. If it were only the wrath of man, though it were of the most potent prince, it would be comparatively little to be regarded. The wrath of kings is very much dreaded, especially of absolute monarchs, who have the possessions and lives of their subjects wholly in their power, to be dis- posed of at their mere will. Proverbs, xx, 2: "The fear of a king is as the roaring of a lion: Whoso provoketh him to anger, sinneth against his own soul." The subject that very much enrages an arbitrary prince is liable to sufi'er the most extreme torments that human art can invent, or human power can inflict. But the greatest earthly potentates in their greatest majesty and strength, and when clothed in their greatest terrors, are but feeble, despicable worms of the dust in comparison of the great and almighty Creator and King of heaven and earth. It is but little that they can do, when most enraged, and when they have exerted the utmost of their fury. All the kings of the earth, before God, are as grass- hoppers; they are nothing, and less than nothing; both their love and their hatred is to be despised. The wrath of the great King of kings is as much more terrible than theirs as his majesty is greater. Luke xii, 4, 5: "And I say unto you, my friends. Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that, have no more that they can do. But I will forewarn you whom you shall fear: fear him, which after he hath killed, hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto you. Fear him." 2. It is t\\t fierceness of his wrath that you are exposed to. We often read of the fury of God, as in Isaiah, lix, 18: "According to their deeds, accordingly he will repay fury to his adversaries." So Isaiah, Ixvi, 15: "For behold, the Lord will come with fire, and with his chariots like a whirlwind, to render his anger with fury, and his rebuke with flames of fire." And in many other places. So, Revelation, xix, 15, we read of "the wine press of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God." The words are exceeding terrible. If it had only been said, "the wrath of God," the words would have implied that which is infinitely dreadful; but it is "the fierceness and wrath of God." The fury of God! the fierceness of Jehovah! Oh, how dreadful must that be! Who can utter or conceive what such expressions carry in them! But it is also "the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God." As though there would be a very great manifestation of his almighty power in what the fierceness of his wrath should inflict, as though omnipotence should be as it were enraged, and exerted, as men are wont to exert their strength in the fierceness of their wrath. Oh! then, what will be the consequence! What will become of the poor worms that shall sufi^er it! Whose hands can be strong.? And whose heart can endure? To what a dread- ful, inexpressible, inconceivable depth of misery must the poor creature be sunk who shall be the subject of this! Consider this, you that are here present, that yet remain in an unregenerate state. That God will execute the fierceness of his anger implies that he will inflict wrath without any pity. When God beholds the inefi^able extremity of your case, and sees your torment to be so vastly disproportioned 6G TONATHAN EDWARDS to your sticnt;th, :iml sees how your poor soul is cruslied, and sinks down, as it were, into an infinite ploom, he will have no com- passion upon you, he will not forbear the executions of his wrath, or in the least lighten his hand; there shall be no moderation or mercy, nor will God then at all stay his rough wind; he will have no regard to your welfare, nor be at all careful lest you should suffer too much in any other sense, than only that you shall not suffer beyond zvhat strict justice requires. Nothing shall be withheld, because it is so hard for you to bear. Ezekiel, viii, i8: "Therefore will I also deal in fury: mine eye shall not spare, neither will I have pity; and though they cry in mine ears with a loud voice, yet I will not hear them." Now God stands ready to pity you; this is a day of mercy; you may cry now with some encouragement of obtaining mercy. But when once the day of mercy is past your most lamentable and dolorous cries and shrieks will be in vain; you will be wholly lost and thrown away of God, as to any regard to your welfare. God will have no other use to put you to but to suffer misery; you shall be continued in being to no other end; for you will be a vessel of wrath fitted to destruction; and there will be no other use of this vessel but to be filled full of wrath. God w\\\ be so far from pitying you when you cry to him, that it is said he will only "laugh and mock" (Proverbs, i, 25, 26, etc.). How awful are those words, Isaiah, Ixiii, 3, which are the words of the great God: "I will tread them in mine anger, and will trample them in my fury, and their blood shall be sprinkled upon my garments, and I will stain all my raiment." It is perhaps impossible to conceive of words that carry in them greater manifestation of these three things, viz. J contempt, and hatred, and fierceness of indignation. If you cry to God to pity you, he will be so far from pitying you in your doleful case, or showing you the least regard or favor, that, instead of that, he will only tread you under foot. And though he will know that you cannot bear the weight of omnipotence treading upon you, yet he will not regard that, but he will crush you under his feet without mercy; he \\'\\\ crush out your blood, and make it fly, and it shall be sprinkled on his garments. so as to stain all his raiment. He will not only hate you, but he will have you in the utmost contempt; no place shall be thought fit for you, but under his feet to be trodden down as the mire of the streets. 3. The misery you are exposed to is that which God will inflict to that end that he might show what that wrath of Jehovah is. God hath had it on his heart to show to angels and men, both how excellent his love is, and also how terrible his wrath is. Some- times earthly kings have a mind to show how terrible their wrath is, by the extreme punishments they would execute on those that would provoke them. Nebuchadnezzar, that mighty and haughty monarch of the Chaldean empire, was willing to show his wrath when enraged with Shadrach, Me- shech, and Abednego, and accordingly gave orders that the burning fiery furnace should be heated seven times hotter than it was before; doubtless, it wms raised to the utmost degree of fierceness that human art could raise it. But the great God is also willing to show his wrath, and magnify his awful majesty and mighty power in the ex- treme sufferings of his enemies. Romans, ix, 22: "What if God, willing to show his wrath, and to make his power known, endure with much long-suffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction.^" And seeing this is his design, and what he has determined, even to show how terrible the unrestrained wrath, the fury and fierceness of Jehovah is, he will do it to eflPect. There will be some- thing accomplished and brought to pass that will be dreadful with a witness. When the great and angry God hath risen up and executed his awful vengeance on the poor sinner, and the wretch is actually suffering the infinite weight and power of his indigna- tion, then will God call upon the whole universe to behold that awful majesty and mighty power that is to be seen in it. Isaiah, xxxiii, 12-14: "And the people shall be as the burnings of lime, as thorns cut up shall they be burnt in the fire. Hear ye that are far off, what I have done; and ye that are near, acknowledge my might, i he sinners in Zion are afraid; fearfulness hath sur- prised the hypocrites," etc. Thus it will be with you that are in an unconverted state, if you continue in it; the infinite might, and majesty, and terrible- SINNERS IN THE HANDS OF AN ANGRY GOD (^7 ness of the omnipotent God shall be magni- fied upon you, in the ineffable strength of your torments. You shall be tormented in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb; and when you shall be in this state of suffering, the glorious inhabitants of heaven shall go forth and look on the awful spectacle, that they may see what the wrath and fierceness of the Almighty is; and when they have seen it, they will fall down and adore that great power and majesty. Isaiah, Ixvi, 23, 24: "And it shall come to pass, that from one new moon to another, and from one sabbath to another, shall all flesh come to worship before me, saith the Lord. And they shall go forth and look upon the carcasses of the men that have transgressed against me; for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched, and they shall be an abhor- ring unto all flesh." 4. It is everlasting wrath. It would be dreadful to suffer this fierceness and wrath of Almighty God one moment; but you must suffer it to all eternity. There will be no end to this exquisite, horrible misery. When you look forward, you shall see a long for-ever, a boundless duration before you, which will swallow up your thoughts and amaze your soul; and you will abso- lutely despair of ever having any deliverance, any end, any mitigation, any rest at all. You will know certainly that you must wear out long ages, millions of millions of ages, in wrestling and conflicting with this al- mighty merciless vengeance; and then, when you have so done, when so many ages have actually been spent by you in this manner, you will know that all is but a point to what remains. So that your punish- ment will indeed be infinite. Oh, who can express what the state of a soul in such circumstances is! All that we can possibly say about it gives but a very feeble, faint representation of it; it is inexpressible and inconceivable; for "who knows the power of God's anger?" How dreadful is the state of those that are daily and hourly in the danger of this great wrath and infinite misery! But this is the dismal case of every soul in this con- gregation that has not been born again, however moral and strict, sober and religious, they may otherwise be. Oh, that you would consider it, whether you be young or old! There is reason to think that there are many in this congregation now hearing this dis- course, that will actually be the subjects of this very misery to all eternity. We know not who they are, or in what seats they sit, or what thoughts they now have. It may be they are now at ease, and hear all these things without much disturbance, and are now flattering themselves that they are not the persons, promising themselves that they shall escape. If we knew that there was one person, and but one, in the whole congregation, that was to be the subject of this misery, what an awful thing would it be to think of! If we knew who it was, what an awful sight would it be to see such a person! How might all the rest of the congregation lift up a lamentable and bitter cry over him! But, alas! instead of one, how many is it likely will remember this discourse in hell.'' And it would be a wonder if some that are now present should not be in hell in a very short time, even before this year is out. And it would be no wonder if some persons that now sit here, in some seats of this meeting-house, in health, quiet and secure, should be there before to-morrow morning. Those of you that finally continue in a natural condition, that shall keep out of hell longest, will be there in a little time! Your damnation does not slumber; it will come swiftly and, in all probability, very sud- denly upon many of you. You have reason to wonder that you are not already in hell. It is doubtless the case of some whom you have seen and known, that never deserved hell more than you, and that heretofore appeared as likely to have been now alive as you. Their case is past all hope; they are crying in extreme misery and perfect despair; but here you are in the land of the living and in the house of God, and have an oppor- tunity to obtam salvation. What would not those poor damned hopeless souls give for one day's opportunity such as you now enjoy! And now you have an extraordinary opportunity, a day wherein Christ has thrown the door of mercy wide open, and stands in calling and crying with a loud voice to poor sinners; a day wherein many are flocking to him, and pressing into the kingdom of God. Many are daily coming from the east, west, north, and south; 68 JONATHAN EDWARDS many that were very lately in the same miserable condition that you are in, are now in a happy state, with their hearts filled with love to him who has loved them and washed them from their sins in his own blood, and rejoicing in hope of the glory of God. How awful is it to be left behind at such a day! To see so many others feasting, while you are pining and perishing! To see so many rejoicing and singing for joy of heart, while you have cause to mourn for sorrow of heart, and howl for vexation of spirit! How can you rest one moment in such a condition? Are not your souls as precious as the souls of the people at Suffield,' where they are flocking from day to day to Christ? Are there not many here who have lived long in the world, and are not to this day born again? and so are aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and have done nothing ever since they have lived but treasure up wrath agamst the day of wrath? Oh, sirs, your case, in an especial manner, is extremely dangerous. Your guilt and hardness of heart is extremely great. Do you not see how generally persons of your years are passed over and left, in the present remarkable and wonderful dispensation of God's mercy? You had need to consider yourselves, and awake thoroughly out of sleep. You cannot bear the fierceness and wrath of the infinite God. — And you, young men, and young women, will you neglect this precious season which you now enjoy, when so many others of your age are re- nouncing all youthful vanities, and flocking to Christ? You especially have now an extraordinary opportunity; but if you neglect it, it will soon be with you as with those persons who spent all the precious days of youth in sin, and are now come to such a dreadful pass in blindness and hard- ness.— And you, children, who are uncon- verted, do not you know that you are going down to hell, to bear the dreadful wrath of 1 A town near Enfield. that God who is now angry with you every day and every night? Will you be content to be the children of the devil, when so many other children in the land are converted and are become the holy and happy children of the King of kings? And let every one that is yet [out] of Christ, and hanging over the pit of hell, whether they be old men and women, or middle aged, or young people, or little chil- dren, now barken to the loud calls of God's word and providence. This acceptable year of the Lord, a day of such great favors to some, will doubtless be a day of as remark- able vengeance to others. Men's hearts harden, and their guilt increases apace at such a day as this, if they neglect their souls; and never was there so great danger of such persons being given up to hardness of heart and blindness of mind. God seems now to be hastily gathering in his elect in all parts of the land; and probably the greater part of adult persons that ever shall be saved will be brought in now in a little time, and that it will be as it was on the great out- pouring of the Spirit upon the Jews in the apostles' days; the election will obtain, and the rest will be blinded. If this should be the case with you, you will eternally curse this day, and will curse the day that ever you was born, to see such a season of the pouring out of God's Spirit, and will wish that you had died and gone to hell before you had seen it. Now undoubtedly it is as it was in the days of John the Baptist, the ax is in an extraordinary manner laid at the root of the trees, that every tree which brings not forth good fruit may be hewn down and cast into the fire. Therefore, let every one that is out of Christ now awake and fly from the wrath to come. The wrath of Almighty God is now undoubtedly hanging over a great part of this congregation: Let every one fly out of Sodom: "Haste and escape for your lives, look not behind you, escape to the mountain, lest you be consumed." BENJAMIN FRANKLIN (1706-1790) A large portion of Franklin's own account of the earlier half of his life is here reprinted, and the classic story need not be summarized. But its readers should be aware that their author's later life was not less varied than the portion of which he treats, and, too, that it was full of larger triumphs. Franklin, because of the later limit of his Autobiography, is still too generally thought of as merely the archetype of the American self-made man — the tallow chandler's son and printer's boy who rose by his own efforts to prosperity, independence, and a position of local influence. And the prudential maxims gathered together from Poor Richard's Almanac in the celebrated JVay to Wealth go properly enough with this picture, though some may feel that the form given to these maxims points to a nimbler wit than the mere successful money-maker usually commands. If so, it points correctly; and with that nimble wit went a sound sense of what is practically useful, a large public spirit, and a sane human- itarianism which informed a great public career to which the successful pursuit of the "almighty dollar" was but the prelude. By the middle 1750's Franklin had already achieved a more than local fame both as a skillful negotiator and as an inventor and scientific discoverer, and he had fairly earned, by his "improve- ments in the electric branch of natural philosophy," honorary degrees from Yale and Harvard (later he received doctoral degrees from St. Andrews, Edinburgh, and Oxford). He had also perceived, under the stimulus of threatened war with France, and publicly urged, the necessity of a close union of all the British colonies. In 1757 he was, because of his many successes in the service of his colony, Pennsylvania's inevitable choice as her agent to present her case against the Proprietors to the authori- ties in London. He remained in England a little over five years, eventually succeeding in his mission, and, in the meantime, making many warm friends. To one of them he wrote in 1763, the year follow- ing his return to Philadelphia: "Of all the enviable things England has, I envy it most its people. Why should that petty island, which, compared to America, is but like a stepping-stone in a brook, scarce enough of it above water to keep one's shoes dry; why, I say, should that little island enjoy, in almost every neighborhood, more sensible, virtuous, and elegant minds than we can collect in ranging one hundred leagues of our vast forests?" To the island whose cultured and intelligent people he found so thoroughly congenial he was again sent by Pennsylvania in 1764, and there he remained, acting after a while as agent also for other colo- nies (Georgia, New Jersey, Massachusetts), until 1775, when he could no longer be useful in London. Even he could not turn the tide of ignorance and folly which helped to bring on the Revolution, though he did all that one man could do to lessen British ignorance of the colonies. One illustration of his lighter manner of combating absurd misrepresentations must be quoted. In 1765 he wrote to the editor of a newspaper, pretending to defend "an honest set of writers, whose comfortable living depends on collecting and supplying the printers with news at the small price of sixpence an article, and who always show their regard to truth by contradicting in a subsequent article such as are wrong — for another sixpence." Englishmen might doubt these writers' reports of manufactories being set up in America, to the prejudice of industry in Great Britain, because, for instance, American sheep have but little wool. But, rejoined Franklin: "Do not let us suffer ourselves to be amused with such ground- less objections. The very tails of the American sheep are so laden with wool that each has a little car or wagon on four little wheels, to support and keep it from trailing on the ground." And "this is as certainly true as the account said to be from Quebec, in all the papers of last week, that the inhabi- tants of Canada are making preparations for a cod and whale fishery this 'summer in the upper lakes.* Ignorant people may object that the upper lakes are fresh, and that cod and whale are salt-water fish; but let them know. Sir, that cod, like other fish when attacked by their enemies, fly into any water where they can be safest; that whales, when they have a mind to eat cod, pursue them wherever they fly; and that the grand leap of the whale in that chase up the fall of Niagara is esteemed, by all who have seen it, as one of the finest spectacles in nature." This is merely fooling, but it must have been efl^ective fooling, and Franklin's efforts, whether gay or grave, for better understanding were unremitting and well considered — were those of a shrewd and capable diplomat. Nevertheless, they were unavailing, and in 1775 "that fine and noble China 69 70 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN vasi', till' British l\nipirc," was ahoiir to break, and lir came linme to lulp break it. He was immedi- ately made a member of the Second Continental Congress, and also i\istmaster-Gencral of the colonies, and he took his proper place as a leader in the preparations for war. This, most would feel, was enough for a man now seventy years old. Hut it was soon felt that no American could serve as well as he in the vitallv necessary task of jirocuring aid from France, and accordinuly he sailed for Paris in the fall of 1776. There he remained until 1785, completely at home in French society, almost idolized hy his many friends, and showing himself an accomplished, urbane courtier, wise as well as witty, and emi- nently successful not only in achieving his official purposes, but also in winning for America a place in the hearts of generous Frenchmen. When he returned to Philadelphia, old, weak, and full of honors, he was still not allowed to rest from public service, but was immediately made President (i.e., Gov- ernor) of Pennsylvania, and, after holding that office as long as the law permitted (three consecutive years), he was made a member of the Constitutional Convention in 1787. Three years later he died, on 17 April, 1790. He has been called our greatest diplomat; he was also a successful tradesman, a scientist, a philosopher, and a wise statesman. His experience of the world was singularly complete, and he was a gifted writer. Although practically all of his writings save the Autobiography are occa- sional and minor, he has made himself live in them, so that he remains for us a vivid, companionable figure, perhaps, as he has been called, the most perfectly representative man of letters of the eighteenth century. AUTOBIOGRAPHY i ***** * * JosiAH, my father, married young, and carried his wife with three children into New England, about 1682. The conventicles having been forbidden by law, and fre- quently disturbed, induced some consider- able men of his acquaintance to remove to that country, and he was prevailed with to accompany them thither, where they ex- pected to enjoy their mode of religion with freedom. By the same wife he had four children more, born there; and by a second wife ten more, in all seventeen; of which I remember thirteen sitting at one time at his table, who all grew up to be men and women, and married; I was the youngest son, and the youngest child but two, and 1 The earlier portion, comprising rather more than a third of the whole, was written in 1771, and was addressed in the fashion of a letter to Franklin's nat- ural son, William, the royal governor of New Jersey. It was not intended for publication, but for the author's descendants. When Franklin went to France in 1776 he left his papers behind him. The account of his life from 1706 to 1730 somehow fell into the hands of his friend Abel James, a Quaker, who in 1782 wrote, urg- ing Franklin to continue the narrative. Another friend also urged him to complete it for publication, and accordingly in 1784, when he was living at Passy, he wrote a further installment. But again the task was laid aside, and was not resumed until 1788. At this time he carried the narrative down to his arrival in London in July, 1757. Later, in the last year of his life, he wrote an additional short passage, in which he very briefly covered the years from 1757 to 1762. By a strange series of misfortunes the Autobiography was never printed correctly or in full until 1868 (though there had been many imperfect editions, beginning with a French translation published in I79i)- was born in Boston, New England. 2 My 1 mother, the second wife, was Abiah Folger, daughter of Peter Folger, one of the first settlers of New England, of whom honorable mention is made by Cotton Mather, in his church history of that country entitled Magnalia Christi Americana, as "a godly , learned Englishman^'' if I remember the words rightly. I have heard that he wrote sundry small occasional pieces, but only one of them was printed, which I saw now many years since. It was written in 1675, ir* the home-spun verse of that time and people, and addressed to those then concerned in the government there. It was in favor of liberty of conscience, and in behalf of the Baptists, Quakers, and other sectaries that had been under persecution, ascribing the Indian wars, and other distresses that had befallen the country, to that persecution, as so many judgments of God to punish so hemous an offense, and exhorting a repeal of those uncharitable laws. The whole appeared to me as WTitten with a good deal of decent plainness and manly freedom. The six concluding lines I remember, though I have forgotten the two first of the stanza; but the purport of them was, that his censures proceeded from good will, and therefore he would be known to be the author. Because to be a libeler (says he) I hate it with my heart; From Sherburne town, where now I dwell, My name I do put here; 2 On 17 January, 1706 (6 January, old style). AUTOBIOGRAPHY 71 Without offense your real friend, It is Peter Folgier.^ My elder brothers were all put apprentices to different trades. I was put to the gram- mar-school at eight years of age, my father intending to devote me, as the tithe of his sons, to the service of the Church. My early readiness in learning to read (which must have been very early, as I do not remember when I could not read), and the opinion of all his friends, that I should cer- tainly make a good scholar, encouraged him in this purpose of his. My uncle Benjamin, too, approved of it, and proposed to give me all his short-hand volumes of sermons, I suppose as a stock to set up with, if I would learn his character.^ I continued, however, at the grammar-school not quite one year, though in that time I had risen gradually from the middle of the class of that year to be the head of it, and farther was removed into the next class above it, in older to go with that into the third at the end of the year. But my father, in the meantime, from a view of the expense of a college education, which having so large a family he could not well afford, and the mean living many so educated were afterwards able to obtain, — reasons that he gave to his friends in my hearing, — altered his first intention, took me from the grammar-school, and sent me to a school for writing and arithmetic, kept by a then famous man, Mr. George Brow- nell, very successful in his profession gen- erally, and that by mild, encouraging methods. Under him I acquired fair writ- ing pretty soon, but I failed in the arith- metic, and made no progress in it. At ten years old I was taken home to assist my father in his business, which was that of a tallow-chandler and soap-boiler; a business 1 Tfie preceding lines are as follows: "I am for peace and not for war, And that's the reason why I write more plain than some men do. That use to daub and lie. But I shall cease, and set my name To what I here insert, Because to be a libeler I hate it with my heart." The title of the piece is A Looking-Glass for the Times; or. The Former Spirit of New England Revived in this Generation, published 1676. "Sherburne" is now Nantucket. 2 1.e.y his method, which was of his own invention. he was not bred to, but had assumed on his arrival in New England, and on finding his dyeing trade would not maintain his family, being in little request. Accordingly, I was employed in cutting wick for the candles, filling the dipping mold and the molds for cast candles, attending the shop, going of errands, etc. I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination for the sea, but my father de- clared against it; however, living near the water, I was much in and about it, learned early to swim well, and to manage boats; and when in a boat or canoe with other boys I was commonly allowed to govern, especially in any case of difficulty; and upon other occasions I was generally a leader among the boys, and sometimes led them into scrapes, of which I will mention one instance, as it shows an early projecting public spirit, though not then justly conducted. There was a salt-marsh that bounded part of the mill-pond, on the edge of which, at high water, we used to stand to fish for minnows. By much trampling, we had made it a mere quagmire. My proposal was to build a wharf there fit for us to stand upon, and I showed my comrades a large heap of stones, which were intended for a new house near the marsh, and which would very well suit our purpose. Accordingly, in the evening, w^hen the workmen were gone, I assembled a number of my play-fellows, and working with them diligently like so many emmets, sometimes two or three to a stone, we brought them all away and built our little wharf. The next morning the workmen were surprised at missing the stones, which were found in our wharf. In- quiry was made after the removers; we were discovered and complained of; several of us were corrected by our fathers; and, though I pleaded the usefulness of the work, mine convinced me that nothing was useful which was not honest. I continued thus employed in my father's business for two years, that is, till I was twelve years old; and my brother John, who was bred to that business, having left my father, married, and set up for himself at Rhode Island, there was all appearance that I was destined to supply his place, and 72 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN become a tallow-chandler, ikit my dislike to the trade continuing, my father was under apprehensions that if he did not find one for me more agreeable, I should break away and get to sea, as his son Josiah had done, to his great vexation. He therefore sometimes took me to walk with him, and see joiners, bricklayers, turners, braziers, etc., at their work, that he might observe my inclination, and endeavor to fix it on some trade or other on land. It has ever since been a pleasure to me to see good workmen handle their tools; and it has been useful to me, having learned so much by it as to be able to do little jobs myself in my house when a workman could not readily be got, and to construct little ma- chines for my experiments, while the inten- tion of making the experiment was fresh and warm in my mind. My father at last fixed upon the cutler's trade, and my uncle Benjamin's son Samuel, who was bred to that business in London, being about that time established in Boston, I was sent to be with him some time on liking. But his expectations of a fee with me displeasing my father, I was taken home again. From a child I was fond of reading, and all the little money that came into my hands was ever laid out in books. Pleased with the Pilgrim s Progress, my first collection was of John Bunyan's works in separate little volumes. I afterward sold them to enable me to buy R. Burton's Historical Collections ; they were small chapmen's books, and cheap, forty or fifty in all.' My father's little library consisted chiefly of books in polemic divinity, most of which I read, and have since often regretted that, at a time when I had such a thirst for knowledge, more proper books had not fallen in my way, since it was now resolved I should not be a clergyman. Plutarch's Lives there was in which I read abundantly, and I still think that time spent to great advantage. There was also a book of De Foe's, called an Essay on Pro- jects, and another of Dr. Mather's, called Essays to do Good, which perhaps gave me a turn of thinking that had an influence on some of the principal future events of my life. 1 They were published in London at intervals from 1681 to 1736. Dr. Johnson thought them "very proper to allure backward readers." 1 his bookish inclination at length deter- mined my father to make me a printer, though he had already one son (James) of that profession. In 171 7 my brother James returned from England with a press and letters to set up his business in Boston. I liked it much better than that of my father, but still had a hankering for the sea. To prevent the apprehended effect of such an inclination, my father was impatient to have me bound to my brother. I stood out some time, but at last was persuaded, and signed the indentures when I was yet but twelve years old. I was to serve as an apprentice till I was twenty-one years of age, only I was to be allowed journeyman's wages during the last year. In a little time I made great proficiency in the business, and became a useful hand to my brother. I now had access to better books. An acquaintance with the apprentices of boo'k- sellers enabled me sometimes to borrow a small one, which I was careful to return soon and clean. Often I sat up in my room read- ing the greatest part of the night, when the book was borrowed in the evening and to . be returned early in the morning, lest it should be missed or wanted. And after some time an ingenious trades- man, Mr. Matthew Adams, who had a pretty collection of books, and who frequented our printing-house, took notice of me, invited me to his library, and very kindly lent me such books as I chose to read. I now took a fancy to poetry, and made some little pieces; my brother, thinking it might turn to account, encouraged me, and put me on composing occasional ballads. One was called The Lighthouse Tragedy, and contained an account of the drowning of Captain Worthilake, with his two daughters; the other was a sailor's song, on the taking of Teach (or Blackbeard) the pirate. They were wretched stuff", in the Grub-street- ballad style; and when they were printed he sent me about the town to sell them. The first sold wonderfully; the event, being recent, having made a great noise. This flattered my vanity; but my father dis- couraged me by ridiculing my performances, and telling me verse-makers were generally beggars. So I escaped being a poet, most probably a very bad one; but as prose writing has been of great use to me in the J AUTOBIOGRAPHY 73 course of my life, and was a principal means of my advancement, I shall tell you how, in such a situation, I acquired what little ability I have in that way. There was another bookish lad in the town, John Collins by name, with whom I was intimately acquainted. We sometimes disputed, and very fond we were of argu- ment, and very desirous of confuting one another, which disputatious turn, by the way, is apt to become a very bad habit, making people often extremely disagreeable in company by the contradiction that is necessary to bring it into practice; and thence, besides souring and spoiling the con- versation, is productive of disgusts and, perhaps, enmities where you may have occasion for friendship. I had caught it by reading my father's books of dispute about religion. Persons of good sense, I have since observed, seldom fall into it, except lawyers, university men, and men of all sorts that have been bred at Edinborough. A question was once, somehow or other, started between Collins and me, of the pro- priety of educating the female sex in learn- ing, and their abilities for study. He was of opinion that it was improper, and that they were naturally unequal to it. I took the contrary side, perhaps a little for dis- pute's sake. He was naturally more elo- quent, had a ready plenty of words, and sometimes, as I thought, bore me down more by his fluency than by the strength of his reasons. As we parted without settling the point, and were not to see one another again for some time, I sat down to put my arguments in writing, which I copied fair and sent to him. He answered, and I re- plied. Three or four letters of a side had passed, w^hen my father happened to find my papers and read them. Without enter- ing into the discussion, he took occasion to talk to me about the manner of my writing; observed that, though I had the advantage of my antagonist in correct spelling and pointing (which I owed to the printing- house), I fell far short in elegance of ex- pression, in method and in perspicuity, of which he convinced me by several instances. I saw the justice of his remarks, and thence grew more attentive to the manner in writ- ing, and determined to endeavor at im- provement. About this time I met with an odd volume of the Spectator. It was the third. I had never before seen any of them. I bought it, read it over and over, and was much de- lighted with it. I thought the writing excellent, and wished, if possible, to imitate it. With this view I took some of the papers, and, making short hints of the sentiment in each sentence, laid them by a few days, and then, without looking at the book, tried to complete the papers again, by expressing each hinted sentiment at length, and as fully as it had been expressed before, in any suitable words that should come to hand. Then I compared my Spectator with the original, discovered some of my faults, and corrected them. But I found I wanted a stock of words, or a readiness in recollecting and using them, which I thought I should have acquired before that time if I had gone on making verses; since the continual occasion for words of the same import, but of different length, to suit the measure, or of different sound for the rhyme, would have laid me under a constant necessity of search- ing for variety, and also have tended to fix that variety in my mind, and make me master of it. Therefore I took some of the tales and turned them into verse; and, after a time, when I had pretty well for- gotten the prose, turned them back again. I also sometimes jumbled my collections of hints into confusion, and after some weeks endeavored to reduce them into the best order, before I began to form the full sen- tences and complete the paper. This was to teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. By comparing my work after- wards with the original, I discovered my faults and amended them; but I sometimes had the pleasure of fancying that, in certain particulars of small import, I had been lucky enough to improve the method or the language, and this encouraged me to think I might possibly in time come to be a toler- able English writer, of which I was extremely ambitious. My time for these exercises and for reading was at night, after work or before it began in the morning, or on Sun- days, when I contrived to be in the printing- house alone, evading as much as I could the common attendance on public worship which my father used to exact of me when I was under his care, and which indeed I still 74 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN thought a duty, tlioiigh I could not, as it seemed to me, afford tmie to practice it. When about sixteen years of age I hap- pened to meet with a book, written by one Tryon, recommending a vegetable diet. I determined to go into it. My brother, being yet unmarried, did not keep house, but boarded himself and his apprentices in another family. My refusing to eat flesh occasioned an inconveniency, and I was fre- quently chid for my singularity. I made myself acquainted with Tryon's manner of preparing some of his dishes, such as boiling potatoes or rice, making hasty pudding, and a few others, and then proposed to my brother that if he would give me, weekly, half the money he paid for my board, I would board myself. He instantly agreed to it, and I presently found that I could save half what he paid me. This was an additional fund for buying books. But I had another advantage in it. My brother and the rest going from the printing-house to their meals, I remained there alone, and, dispatching presently my light repast, which often was no more than a biscuit or a slice of bread, a handful of raisins, or a tart from the pastry-cook's, and a glass of water, had trie rest of the time, till their return, for study, in which I made the greater progress, from that greater clearness of head and quicker apprehension which usually attend temperance in eating and drinking. And now it was that, being on some occasion made ashamed of my ignorance in figures, which I had twice failed in learning when at school, I took Cocker's book of Arithmetic, and went through the whole by myself with great ease. I also read Seller's and Shermy's books of Navigation, and be- came acquainted with the little geometry they contain; but never proceeded far in that science. And I read about this time Locke On Human Understandings and the Art of Thinkings by Messrs. du Port Royal. i While I was intent on improving my language, I met with an English grammar (I think it was Greenwood's), at the end of which there were two little sketches of the arts of rhetoric and logic, the latter finishing with a specimen of a dispute in the Socratic ' An English translation of one of the books pro- duced by the Jansenists, of the Abbey of Port Royal, near Paris. method, and soon after I procured Xeno- phon's Memorable Things of Socrates, wherein there are many instances of the same method. I was charmed with it, adopted it, dropped my abrupt contradiction and positive argu- mentation, and put on the humble inquirer and doubter. And being then, from reading Shaftesbury and Coirins,2 become a real doubter in many points of our religious doctrine, I found this method safest for myself, and very embarrassing to those against whom I used it; therefore I took a delight in it, practiced it continually, and grew very artful and expert in drawing people, even of superior knowledge, into concessions, the consequences of which they did not foresee, entangling them in diffi- culties out of which they could not extricate themselves, and so obtaining victories that neither myself nor my cause always de- i served. I continued this method some few * years, but gradually left it, retaining only the habit of expressing myself in terms of modest diffidence, never using, when I ad- vanced any thing that may possibly be dis- puted, the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any others that give the air of positiveness to an opinion, but rather say, I conceive or apprehend a thing to be so and so; it appears to me, or / should think it so or so, for such and such reasons; or / imagine it to be so; or it is so, if I am not mistaken. This habit, I believe, has been of great advantage to me when I have had occasion to inculcate my opinions, and persuade men into meas- ures that I have been from time to time engaged in promoting; and, as the chief ends of conversation are to inform or to be in- formed, to please or to persuade, I wish well- meaning, sensible men would not lessen their power of doing good by a positive, assuming manner, that seldom fails to dis- gust, tends to create opposition, and to defeat every one of those purposes for which speech was given to us, — to wit, giving or receiving information or pleasure. For, if you would inform, a positive and dogmatical manner in advancing your sentiments may provoke contradiction and prevent a candid attention. If you wish information and 2 Deists, the former author of Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions^ Times (171 1), the latter of ^^ Dis- course of Free-thinking (1713) and oi A Discourse of the Grounds and Reasons of the Christian Religion (1724). AUTOBIOGRAPHY 75 improvement from the knowledge of others, and yet at the same time express yourself as firmly fixed in your present opinions, modest, sensible men, who do not love disputation, will probably leave you undis- turbed in the possession of your error. And by such a manner, you can seldom hope to recommend yourself in pleasing your hearers, or to persuade those whose concurrence you desire. Pope says, judiciously: Men should be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed as things forgot; farther recommending to us To speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence. And he might have coupled with this line that which he has coupled with another, I think, less properly: For want of modesty is want of sense. If you ask. Why less properly .f" I must repeat the lines: Immodest words admit of no defense, For want of modesty is want of sense. Now, is not want of sense (where a man is so unfortunate as to want it) some apology for his zvant of modesty? and would not the lines stand more justly thus.'' Immodest words admit but this defense, That want of modesty is want of sense. This, however, I should submit to better judgments. My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a newspaper. It was the second that appeared in America, ^ and was called the New England Coiirant. The only one before it was the Boston News-Letter. I remember his being dissuaded by some of his friends from the undertaking, as not likely to suc- ceed, one newspaper being, in their judg- ment, enough for America. At this time [1771] there are not less than five-and- twenty. He went on, however, with the undertaking, and after having worked in composing the types and printing off the sheets, I was employed to carry the papers through the streets to the customers. 1 Really the fourth. Franklin's brother had been printer of the second, the Boston Gazette, which com- menced on 21 December, 1719. The Courant first appeared on 21 August, 1721. He had some ingenious men among his friends, who amused themselves by writing little pieces for this paper, which gained it credit and made it more in demand, and these gentlemen often visited us. Hearing their conversations, and their accounts of the approbation their papers were received with, I was excited to try my hand among them; but, being still a boy, and suspecting that my brother would object to printing any thing of mine in his paper if he knew it to be mine, I contrived to disguise my hand, and, writing an anonymous paper, I put it in at night, under the door of the printing- house. It was found in the morning, and communicated to his writing friends when they called in as usual. They read it, com- mented on it in my hearing, and I had the exquisite pleasure of finding it met with their approbation, and that, in their diflferent guesses at the author, none were named but men of some character among us for learning and ingenuity. I suppose now that I was rather lucky in my judges, and that perhaps they were not really so very good ones as I then esteemed them. Encouraged, however, by this, I wrote and conveyed in the same way to the press several more papers, which w^ere equally approved; and I kept my secret till my small fund of sense for such performances was pretty well exhausted, and then I dis- covered it, when I began to be considered a little more by my brother's acquaintance, and in a manner that did not quite please him, as he thought, probably with reason, that it tended to make me too vain. And, perhaps, this might be one occasion of the differences that we began to have about this time. Though a brother, he considered himself as my master, and me as his appren- tice, and, accordingly, expected the same services from me as he would from another, while I thought he demeaned me too much in some he required of me, who from a brother expected more indulgence. Our disputes were often brought before our father, and I fancy I was either generally in the right, or else a better pleader, because the judgment was generally in my favor. But my brother was passionate^ and had often beaten me, which I took extremely amiss; and, thinking my apprenticeship very tedious, I was continually wishing 1(^ BENJAMIN FRANKLIN for some opportunity of shortening it, which at length ottered in a manner unexpected. ^ One of the pieces in our newspaper on some political point, which I have now for- gotten, gave off^ense to the Assembly. He was taken up, censured, and imprisoned for a month, by the Speaker's warrant, I sup- pose, because he would not discover his author. I too was taken up and examined before the council; but, though I did not give them any satisfaction, they contented themselves with admonishing me, and dis- missed me, considering me, perhaps, as an apprentice, who was bound to keep his master's secrets. During my brother's confinement, which I resented a good deal, notwithstanding our private diff^erences, I had the management of the paper; and I made bold to give our rulers some rubs in it, which my brother took very kindly, while others began to consider me in an unfavorable light, as a young genius that had a turn for libeling and satire. My brother's discharge was accompanied with an order of the House (a very odd one), that ^^ James Franklin should no longer print the paper called the New Eng- land Courant." There was a consultation held in our printing-house among his friends, what he should do in this case. Some proposed to evade the order by changing the name of the paper; but my brother, seeing incon- veniences in that, it was finally concluded on as a better way, to let it be printed for the future under the name of Benjamin Frank- lin; and to avoid the censure of the Assem- bly that might fall on him as still printing it by his apprentice, the contrivance was that my old indenture should be returned to me, with a full discharge on the back of it, to be shown on occasion, but, to secure to him the benefit of my service, I was to sign new indentures for the remainder of the term, which were to be kept private. A very flimsy scheme it was; however, it was im- mediately executed, and the paper went on accordingly under my name for several months. At length, a fresh ditt'erence arising be- 1 I fancy his harsh and tyrannical treatment of me might be a means of impressing me with that aversion to arbitrary power that has stuck to me through my whole life. (Franklin's note.) tween my brother and me, I took upon me to assert my freedom, presuming that he would not venture to produce the new in- dentures. It was not fair in me to take this advantage, and this I therefore reckon one of the first errata of my life; but the un- fairness of it weighed little with me, when under the impressions of resentment for the blows his passion too often urged him to bestow upon me, though he was otherwise not an ill-natured man: perhaps I was too saucy and provoking. When he found I would leave him, he took care to prevent my getting employment in any other printing-house of the town, by going round and speaking to every master, who accordingly refused to give me work. I then thought of going to New York, as the nearest place where there was a printer; and I was rather inclined to leave Boston when I reflected that I had already made I myself a little obnoxious to the governing party, and, from the arbitrary proceedings of the Assembly in my brother's case, it was likely it might, if I stayed, soon bring myself into scrapes; and farther, that my indiscreet disputations about religion began to make me pointed at with horror by good people as an infidel or atheist. I determined on the point, but my father now siding with my brother, I was sensible that, if I attempted to go openly, means would be used to prevent me. My friend Collins, therefore, under- took to manage a little for me. He agreed with the captain of a New York sloop for my passage, under the notion of my being a young acquaintance of his that had got a naughty girl with child, whose friends would compel me to marry her, and therefore I could not appear or come away publicly. So I sold some of my books to raise a little money, was taken on board privately, and as we had a fair wind, in three days I found myself in New York, near 300 miles from home, a boy of but seven teen,^ without the least recommendation to, or knowledge of, any person in the place, and with very little money in my pocket. My inclinations for the sea were by this time worn out, or I might now have gratified them. But, having a trade, and supposing myself a pretty good workman, I oflFered 2 The time was October, 1723. AUTOBIOGRAPHY 11 my service to the printer in the place, old Mr. William Bradford, who had been the first printer in Pennsylvania, but removed from thence upon the quarrel of George Keith. He could give me no employment, having little to do, and help enough already; but says he: "My son at Philadelphia has lately lost his principal hand, Aquila Rose, by death; if you go thither, I believe he may employ you." Philadelphia was lOO miles farther; I set out, however, in a boat for Amboy, leaving my chest and things to follow me round by sea. In crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails to pieces, prevented our getting into the KilU and drove us upon Long Island. In our way, a drunken Dutch- man, who was a passenger too, fell over- board; when he was sinking, I reached through the water to his shock pate, and drew him up, so that we got him in again. His ducking sobered him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his pocket a book, which he desired I would dry for him. It proved to be my old favorite author, Bun- yan's Pilgrim's Progress in Dutch, finely printed, on good paper, with copper cuts, a dress better than I had ever seen it wear in its own language. I have since found that it has been translated into most of the languages of Europe, and suppose it has been more generally read than any other book, except perhaps the Bible. Honest John was the first that I know of who mixed narration and dialogue, a method of writing very engaging to the reader, who, in the most interesting parts, finds himself, as it were, brought into the company, and present at the discourse. De Foe, in his Crusoe, his A4oll Flanders, Religious Courtship, Family In- structor, and other pieces, has imitated it with success, and Richardson has done the same in his Pamela, etc. When we drew near the island, we found it was at a place where there could be no landing, there being a great surf on the stony beach. So we dropped anchor and swung round towards the shore. Some people came down to the water edge and halloed to us, as we did to them, but the wind was so high, and the surf so loud, that we could not hear so as to understand each 1 Dutch for Channel, in this case the passage north and west of Staten Island. Other. There were canoes on the shore, and we made signs and halloed that they should fetch us, but they either did not understand us, or thought it impracticable, so they went away, and night coming on, we had no remedy but to wait till the wind should abate; and, in the mean time, the boatman and I concluded to sleep, if we could; and so crowded into the scuttle, with the Dutch- man, who was still wet, and the spray beat- ing over the head of our boat, leaked through to us, so that we were soon almost as wet as he. In this manner we lay all night with very little rest; but, the wind abating the next day, we made a shift to reach Amboy before night, having been thirty hours on the water, without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of filthy rum, the water we sailed on being salt. In the evening I found myself very fever- ish, and went in to bed; but, having read somewhere that cold water drank plenti- fully was good for a fever, I followed the prescription, sweat plentifully most of the night, my fever left me, and in the morning, crossing the ferry, I proceeded on my journey on foot, having fifty miles to Bur- lington, where I was told I should find boats that would carry me the rest of the way to Philadelphia. It rained very hard all the day; I was thoroughly soaked, and by noon a good deal tired; so I stopped at a poor inn, where I stayed all night, beginning now to wish that I had never left home. I cut so miserable a figure, too, that I found, by the questions asked me, I was suspected to be some run- away servant, and in danger of being taken up on that suspicion. However, I pro- ceeded the next day, and got in the evening to an inn, within eight or ten miles of Bur- lington, kept by one Dr. Brown. He entered into conversation with me while I took some refreshment, and, finding I had read a little, became very sociable and friendly. Our acquaintance continued as long as he lived. He had been, I imagine, an itinerant doctor, for there was no town in England, or country in Europe, of which he could not give a very particular account. He had some letters, and was ingenious, but much of an unbeliever, and wickedly undertook, some years after, to travesty the Bible in doggerel verse, as Cotton had done Virgil. By this 7S BKNJAMIN FRANKLIN means he set many ot tlie facts in a very ridiculous liiiht, and niitiht have hurt weak minds if his work liad been published; but It never was. At his house I lay that night, and the next morning reached Hurlington, but had the mortihcation to hnd that the regular boats were gone a little before my coming, and no other expected to go before Tuesday, this being Saturday; wherefore I returned to an old woman in the town, of whom I had bought gingerbread to eat on the water, and I asked her advice. She invited me to lodge at her house till a passage by water should offer; and being tired with my foot travel- ing, I accepted the invitation. She under- standing I was a printer, w^ould have had me stay at that town and follow my business, being ignorant of the stock necessary to begin with. She was very hospitable, gave me a dinner of ox-cheek with great good will, accepting only of a pot of ale in return; and I thought myself fixed till Tuesday should come. How^ever, walking in the evening by the side of the river, a boat came by, which I found was going towards Philadelphia, with several people in her. They took me in, and, as there was no wind, we rowed all the way; and about midnight, not having yet seen the city, some of the company were confident we must have passed it, and would row no farther; the others knew not where w^e w^ere; so we put towards the shore, got into a creek, landed near an old fence, with the rails of which we made a fire, the night being cold, in October, and there we remained till day- light. Then one of the company knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little above Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of the creek, and arrived there about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morn- ing, and landed at the Market-street wharf. I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your mind compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since made there. I was in my working dress, my best clothes being to come round by sea. I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuffed out with shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul nor where to look for lodg- ing. I was fatigued with traveling, rowing, and want of rest; I was very hungry; and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar, and about a shilhng in copper. The latter I gave the people of the boat for my passage, who at first refused it, on account of my rowing; but I insisted on their taking it. A man being sometimes more generous when he has but a little money than when he has plenty, perhaps through fear of being thought to have but little. Then I walked up the street, gazing about till near the market-house I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and, inquiring where he got it, I went im- mediately to the baker's he directed me to, in Second-street, and asked for biscuit, intending such as we had in Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in Phila- delphia. Then I asked for a three-penny loaf, and was told they had none such. So not considering or knowing the difference of money, and the greater cheapness nor the names of his bread, I bade him give me three-penny worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having no room in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and eating the other. Thus I went up Market-street as far as Fourth-street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went down Chestnut-street and part of Walnut-street, eating my roll all the way, and, coming round, found myself again at Market-street wharf, near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draught of the river water; and, being filled wMth one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther. Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had many clean- dressed people in it, who were all walking the same w^ay. I joined them, and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of the Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through labor and want of rest the pre- ceding night, I fell fast asleep, and con- tinued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough to rouse me. This was, AUTOBIOGRAPHY 79 therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in, in Phihtdelphia. \\ alking down ap;ain towards the river, and looking; in the faces of people, I met a young Quaker man whose countenance I liked, and accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. "Here," says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not a reputable house; if thee wilt walk with me, I'll show thee a better." He brought me to the Crooked Billet in Water-street. Here I got a dinner, and, while I was eating it, several sly questions were asked me, as it seemed to be suspected, from my youth and appearance, that I might be some runaway. After dinner, my sleepiness returned, and, being shown to a bed, I lay down without undressing, and slept till six in the evening; w^as called to supper, went to bed again very early, and slept soundly till next morning. Then I made myself as tidy as I could, and went to Andrew Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old man, his father, whom I had seen in New York, and who, travelmg on horseback, had got to Phila- delphia before me. He introduced me to his son, who received me civilly, gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present want a hand, being lately supplied w4th one; but there was another printer in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps, might employ me; if not, I should be wel- come to lodge at his house, and he would give me a little work to do now and then till fuller business should offer. The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer; and when we found him, "Neighbor," says Bradford, "I have brought to see you a young man of your business; perhaps you may want such a one." He asked me a few questions, put a composing stick in my hand to see how I worked, and then said he would employ me soon, though he had just then nothing for me to do; and taking old Bradford, whom he had never seen before, to be one of the town's people that had a good will for him, entered into a conversation on his present undertaking and prospects; while Brad- ford, not discovering that he was the other printer's father, on Keimer's saying he expected soon to get the greatest part of the business into his own hands, drew him on by artful questions and starting little doubts, to explain all his views, what interest he relied on, and in what manner he in- tended to proceed. I, who stood by and heard all, saw immediately that one of them was a crafty old sophister, and the other a mere novice. Bradford left me with Keimer, who was greatly surprised when I told him who the old man was. Keimer's printing-house, I found, con- sisted of an old shattered press, and one small, worn-out font of English, which he was then using himself, composing an Elegy oti Aquila Rose^ before mentioned, an in- genious young man, of excellent character, much respected in the towm, clerk of the Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses too, but very indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for his manner was to compose them in the types directly out of his head. So there being no copy, but one pair of cases, and the Elegy likely to require all the "letter," no one could help him. I endeavored to put his press (w^hich he had not yet used, and of which he understood nothing) into order fit to be worked with; and, promising to come and print off his Elegy as soon as he should have got it ready, I returned to Bradford's, who gave me a little job to do for the present, and there I lodged and dieted. A few days after, Keimer sent for me to print off the Elegy. And now^ he had got another pair of cases, and a pamphlet to reprint, on which he set me to work. These two printers I found poorly quali- fied for their business. Bradford had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate; and Keimer, though something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing of presswork. He had been one of the French prophets, and could act their enthusiastic agitations. 1 At this time he did not profess any particular religion, but something of all on occasion; was very ignorant of the world, and had, as I afterward found, a good deal of the knave in his composition. He did not like my lodging at Bradford's while I worked with him. He had a house indeed, but without furniture, so he could not lodge me; 1 It is supposed that he was one of the Camisards, Protestants of southern France who were driven into fanaticism b'y the persecution of Louis XIV. 8o HKNJAMIN FRANKLIN but he j^ot nic a lodjiinc; at Mr. Read's, before mentioned, who was the owner of his liouse; and, my chest and clothes beinii; come by this time, 1 made rather a more respectable appearance in the eyes of Miss Read than I had done when she first happened to see me eatins; my roll m the street. I be2;an now to have some acquaintance anions; tiie youno; people of the town, that were lovers of readinc;, with whom I spent my evenings very pleasantly; and gaining money by my industry and frugality, I lived very agreeably, forgetting Boston as much as I could, and not desiring that any there should know where I resided except my friend Collins, who was in my secret, and kept It when I wrote to him. At length, an incident happened that sent me back again much sooner than I had intended. I had a brother-in-law, Robert Holmes, master of a sloop that traded between Boston and Delaware. He being at Newcastle, forty miles below Philadelphia, heard there of me, and wrote me a letter mentioning the con- cern of my friends in Boston at my abrupt departure, assuring me of their good will to me, and that every thing would be accom- modated to my mind if I would return, to which he exhorted me very earnestly. I wrote an answer to his letter, thanked him for his advice, but stated my reasons for quitting Boston fully and in such a light as to convince him I was not so wrong as he had apprehended. Sir William Keith, governor of the prov- ince, was then at Newcastle, and Captain Holmes, happening to be in company with him when my letter came to hand, spoke to him of me, and showed him the letter. The governor read it, and seemed surprised when he was told my age. He said I ap- peared a young man of promising parts, and therefore should be encouraged; the printers at Philadelphia were wretched ones; and, if I would set up there, he made no doubt I should succeed; for his part, he would procure me the public business, and do me every other service in his power. This my brother-in-law afterwards told me in Bos- ton, but I knew as yet nothing of it; w^hen, one day, Keimer and I being at work to- gether near the window, we saw the governor and another gentleman (which proved to be Colonel French, of Newcastle), finely dressed, come directly across the street to our house, and heard them at the door. Keimer ran down immediately, thinking it a visit to him; but the governor incjuired for me, came up, and with a condescension and politeness I had been quite unused to, made me many compliments, desired to be acquainted with me, blamed me kindly for not having made myself known to him when I first came to the place, and would have me away with him to the tavern, where he was going with Colonel French to taste, as he said, some excellent Madeira. I was not a little surprised, and Keimer stared like a pig poisoned. I went, however, with the governor and Colonel French to a tavern, at the corner of Third-street, and over the Madeira he proposed my setting up my business, laid before me the probabilities of success, and both he and Colonel French assured me I should have their interest and influence in procuring the public business of both governments.! On my doubting whether my father would assist me in it, Sir William said he would give me a letter to him, in which he would state the advan- tages, and he did not doubt of prevailing with him. So it was concluded I should return to Boston in the first vessel, with the governor's letter recommending me to my father. In the mean time the intention was to be kept a secret, and I went on working with Keimer as usual, the governor sending for me now and then to dine with him, a very great honor I thought it, and conversing with me in the most affable, familiar, and friendly manner imaginable. About the end of April, 1724, a little vessel offered for Boston. I took leave of Keimer as going to see my friends. The governor gave me an ample letter, saying many flattering things of me to my father, and strongly recommending the project of my setting up at Philadelphia as a thing that must make my fortune. We struck on a shoal in going down the bay, and sprung a leak; we had a blustering time at sea, and were obliged to pump almost continually, at which I took my turn. We arrived safe, however, at Boston in about a fortnight. I had been absent seven months, and my friends had heard nothing of me; for my 1 Pennsylvania and Delaware. AUTOBIOGRAPHY brother Holmes was not yet returned, and had not written about me. My unex- pected appearance surprised the family; all were, however, very glad to see me, and made me welcome, except my brother. I went to see him at his printing-house. I was better dressed than ever while in his service, having a genteel new suit from head to foot, a watch, and my pockets lined with near five pounds sterling in silver. He received me not very frankly, looked me all over, and turned to his work again. The journeymen were inquisitive where I had been, what sort of a country it was, and how I liked it. I praised it much, and the happy life I led in it, expressing strongly my intention of returning to it; and, one of them asking what kind of money we had there, I produced a handful of silver, and spread it before them, which was a kind of raree-show they had not been used to, paper being the money of Boston. Then I took an opportunity of letting them see my watch; and, lastly (my brother still grum and sullen), I gave them a piece of eight^ to drink, and took my leave. This visit of mine offended him extremely; for, when my mother some time after spoke to him of a reconciliation, and of her wishes to see us on good terms together, and that we might live for the future as brothers, he said I had insulted him in such a manner before his people that he could never forget or forgive it. In this, however, he was mistaken. My father received the governor's letter with some apparent surprise, but said little of it to me for some days, when Captain Holmes returnmg he showed it to him, asked him if he knew Keith, and what kind of man he was; addmg his opinion that he must be of small discretion to think of setting a boy up in business who wanted yet three years of being at man's estate. Holmes said what he could in favor of the project, but my father was clear in the impropriety of it, and at last gave a flat denial to it. Then he wrote a civil letter to Sir William, thanking him for the patronage he had so kindly offered me, but declining to assist me 1 Spanish dollar. (John Bigeiow, who first printed the Autobiography from the original manuscript, has "him" in this sentence, in place of "them," but ap- parently all -editors have concurred in making the substitution.) as yet in setting up, I being, in his opinion, too young to be trusted with the manage- ment of a business so important, and for which the preparation must be so expensive. My friend and companion Collins, who was a clerk in the post-office, pleased with the account I gave him of my new country, determined to go thither also; and, while I waited for my father's determination, he set out before me by land to Rhode Island, leaving his books, which were a pretty collec- tion of mathematics and natural philosophy, to come with mine and me to New York, where he proposed to wait for me. My father, though he did not approve Sir William's proposition, was yet pleased that I had been able to obtain so advan- tageous a character from a person of such note where I had resided, and that I had been so industrious and careful as to equip myself so handsomely in so short a time; therefore, seeing no prospect of an accom- modation between my brother and me, he gave his consent to my returning again to Philadelphia, advised me to behave respect- fully to the people there, endeavor to obtain the general esteem, and avoid lampooning and libeling, to which he thought I had too much inclination; telling me that by steady industry and a prudent parsimony I might save enough by the time I was one-and- twenty to set me up; and that, if I came near the matter, he would help me out with the rest. This was all I could obtain, except some small gifts as tokens of his and my mother's love, when I embarked again for New York, now with their approbation and their blessing. The sloop putting in at Newport, Rhode Island, I visited my brother John, who had been married and settled there some years. He received me very affectionately, for he always loved me. A friend of his, one Vernon, having some money due to him in Pennsylvania, about thirty-five pounds cur- rency, desired I would receive it for him, and keep it till I had his directions what to remit it in. Accordingly he gave me an order. This afterwards occasioned me a good deal of uneasiness. At Newport we took in a number of passengers for New York, among which were two young women, companions, and a grave, sensible, matron-like Quaker woman, with 13ENJAMIN FRANKLIN her attendants. 1 had shown an ohhgin^ readiness to do her some httle services, which Impressed her I suppose with a degree of good will towards me; therefore, when she saw a daily growing familiarity between me and the two young women, which they appeared to encourage, she took me aside, and said: "Young man, I am concerned for thee, as thou has no friend with thee, and seems not to know much of the world, or of the snares youth is exposed to; depend upon it, those are very bad women; I can see it in all their actions; and if thee art not upon thy guard, they will draw thee into some danger; they are strangers to thee, and I advise thee, in a friendly concern for thy welfare, to have no acquaintance with them." As I seemed at fiist not to think so ill of them as she did, she mentioned some things she had observed and heard that had escaped my notice, but now convinced me she was right. I thanked her for her kind advice, and promised to follow it. When we arrived at New York, they told me where they lived, and invited me to come and see them; but I avoided it, and it was well I did; for the next day the captain missed a silver spoon and some other things, that had been taken out of his cabin, and knowing that these were a couple of strumpets, he got a warrant to search their lodgings, found the stolen goods, and had the thieves punished. So, though we had escaped a sunken rock, which we scraped upon in the passage, I thought this escape of rather more im- portance to me. At New York I found my friend Collins, who had arrived there some time before me. We had been intimate from children, and had read the same books together; but he had the advantage of more time for reading and studying, and a wonderful genius for mathematical learning, in which he far out- stripped me. While I lived in Boston, most of my hours of leisure for conversation were spent with him, and he continued a sober as well as an industrious lad; was much respected for his learning by several of the cler;=V and other gentlemen, and seemed to proii.ise making a good figure in life. But, during my absence, he had acquired a habit of sotting with brandy; and I found by his own account, and what I heard from others, that he had been drunk every day since his arrival at New ^'ork, and behaved very oddly. He had gamed, too, and lost his money, so that I was obliged to discharge his lodgings, and defray his expenses to and at Philadelphia, which proved extremely inconvenient to me. The then governor of New York, Burnet (son of Bishop Burnet), hearing from the captain that a young man, one of his pas- sengers, had a great many books, desired he would bring me to see him. I waited upon him accordingly, and should have taken Collins with me, but that he was not sober. The governor treated me with great civility, showed me his library, which was a very large one, and we had a good deal of con- versation about books and authors. This was the second governor who had done me the honor to take notice of me, which, to a poor boy like me, was very pleasing. We proceeded to Philadelphia. I received on the way Vernon's money, without which we could hardly have finished our journey. Collins wished to be employed in some counting-house, but, whether they dis- covered his dramming by his breath, or by his behavior, though he had some recom- mendations, he met with no success in any application, and continued lodging and boarding at the same house with me, and at my expense. Knowing I had that money of Vernon's, he was continually borrowing of me, still promising repayment as soon as he should be in business. At length he had got so much of it that I w^as distressed to think what I should do in case of being called on to remit it. His drinking continued, about which we sometimes quarreled, for, when a little intoxicated, he was very fractious. Once, in a boat on the Delaware with some other young men, he refused to row in his turn. *'I will be rowed home," says he. "We will not row you," says I. "You must, or stay all night on the water," says he, "just as you please." The others said: "Let us row: what signifies it.^" But my mind being soured with his other conduct, I con- tinued to refuse. So he swore he would make me row, or throw me overboard; and coming along, stepping on the thwarts, towards me, when he came up and struck at me, I clapped my hand under his crotch, and rising, pitched him head-foremost into AUTOBIOGRAPHY 83 the river. I knew he was a good swimmer, and so was under Httle concern about him; but before he could get round to lay hold of the boat, we had, with a few strokes, pulled her out of his reach, and ever when he drew near the boat, we asked if he would row, striking a few strokes to slide her away from him. He was ready to die with vexation, and obstinately would not promise to row. However, seeing him at last beginning to tire, we lifted him in, and brought him home dripping wet in the evening. We hardly exchanged a civil word afterwards, and a West India captain, who had a commission to procure a tutor for the sons of a gentle- man at Barbadoes, happening to meet with him, agreed to carry him thither. He left me then, promising to remit me the first money he should receive, in order to dis- charge the debt, but I never heard of him after. The breaking into this money of Vernon's was one of the first great errata of my life, and this affair showed that my father was not much out in his judgment when he sup- posed me too young to manage business of importance. But Sir William, on reading his letter, said he was too prudent. There was great difference in persons, and dis- cretion did not always accompany years, nor was youth always without it. "And since he will not set you up," says he, "I will do it myself. Give me an- inventory of the things necessary to be had from England, and I will send for them. You shall repay me when you are able; I am resolved to have a good printer here, and I am sure you must succeed." This was spoken with such an appearance of cordiality, that I had not the least doubt of his meaning what he said. I had hitherto kept the proposition of my setting up a secret in Philadelphia, and I still kept it. Had it been known that I de- pended on the governor, probably some friend that knew him better would have advised me not to rely on him, as I after- wards heard it as his known character to be liberal of promises which he never meant to keep. Yet, unsolicited as he was by me, how could I think his generous offers insin- cere? I believed him one of the best men in the world. I presented him an inventory of a little printing-house, amounting by my computa- tion to about one hundred pounds sterling. He liked it, but asked me if my being on the spot in England to choose the types, and see that every thing was good of the kind, might not be of some advantage. "Then," says he, "when there, you may make acquaintances, and establish correspondences in the bookselling and stationery way." I agreed that this might be advantageous. "Then," says he, "get yourself ready to go with Annis"; which was the annual ship,i and the only one at that time usually passing between London and Philadelphia. But it would be some months before Annis sailed, so I continued working with Keimer, fretting about the money Collins had got from me, and in daily apprehensions of being called upon by Vernon, which, however, did not happen for some years after. I believe I have omitted mentioning that, in my first voyage from Boston, being be- calmed off Block Island, our people set about catching cod, and hauled up a great many. Hitherto I had stuck to my resolution of not eating animal food, and on this occasion I considered, with my master Tryon, the taking every fish as a kind of unprovoked murder, since none of them had, or ever could do us any injury that might justify the slaughter. All this seemed very reasonable. But I had formerly been a great lover of fish, and, when this came hot out of the frying- pan, \t smelled admirably well. I balanced some time between principle and inclination, till I recollected that, when the fish were opened, I saw smaller fish taken out of their stomachs; then thought I, "If you eat one another, I don't see why we may n't eat you." So I dined upon cod very heartily, and continued to eat with other people, returning only now and then occasionally to a vegetable diet. So convenient a thing it is to be a reasonable creature, since it en- ables one to find or make a reason for every thing one has a mind to do. Keimer and I lived on a pretty good fa- miliar footing, and agreed tolerably well, for he suspected nothing of my setting up. He retained a great deal of his old enthusi- asms and loved argumentation. We there- fore had many disputations. I used to work him so with my Socratic method, and had 1 Annis was its commander; the ship was called the London-Hope. B4 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN trepanned hini so often by (luestions ap- parently so distant from any point we had in hand, and yet by degrees led to the point, and brought him into difficulties and con- tradictions, that at last he grew ridiculously cautious, and would hardly answer me the most common question, without asking first: '' JVhat do you intend to infer from that?*' However, it gave him so high an opinion of my abilities in the confuting way, that he seriously proposed my being his colleague in a project he had of setting up a new sect. He was to preach the doctrines, and I was to confound all opponents. When he came to explain with me upon the doc- trines, I found several conundrums which I objected to, unless I might have my way a little too, and introduce some of mine. Keimer wore his beard at full length, because somewhere in the Mosaic law it is said: *' Thou shalt not mar the corners of thy heard."^ He likewise kept the Seventh day, Sabbath; and these two points were essen- tials with hjm. I disliked both; but agreed to admit them upon condition of his adopting the doctrine of using no animal food. "I doubt," said he, "my constitution will not bear that." I assured him it would, and that he would be the better for it. He was usually a great glutton, and I promised myself some diversion in half starving him. He agreed to try the practice, if I w^ould keep him company. I did so, and w^e held it for three months. We had our victuals dressed, and brought to us regularly by a woman in the neighborhood, who had from me a list of forty dishes, to be prepared for us at differ- ent times, in all which there was neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, and the whim suited me the better at this time from the cheapness of it, not costing us above eighteen pence sterling each per week. I have since kept several Lents most strictly, leaving the common diet for that, and that for the common, abruptly, without the least inconvenience, so that I think there is little in the advice of making those changes by easy grada- tions. 1 went on pleasantly, but poor Keimer suffered grievously, tired of the project, longed for the flesh-pots of Egypt,^ and ordered a roast pig. He invited me and two women friends to dine with him; but, 1 Leviticus, xix, 27. * Exodus, xvi, 3, it being brought too soon upon table, he could not resist the temptation, and ate the whole before we came. I had made some courtship during this time to Miss Read. I had a great respect and affection for her, and had some reason to believe she had the same for me; but, as I was about to take a long voyage, and we were both very young, only a little above eighteen, it was thought most prudent by her mother to prevent our going too far at present, as a marriage, if it was to take place, would be more convenient after my return, when I should be, as I expected, set up in my business. Perhaps, too, she thought my expectations not so well founded as I imagined them to be. My chief acquaintances at this time were Charles Osborne, Joseph Watson, and James Ralph, all lovers of reading. The two first were clerks to an eminent scrivener or con- veyancer in the town, Charles Brogden; the other was clerk to a merchant. Watson was a pious, sensible young man, of great integrity; the others rather more lax in their principles of religion, particularly Ralph, who, as well as Collins, had been unsettled by me, for which they both made me suffer. Osborne was sensible, candid, frank; sincere and affectionate to his friends; but, in literary matters, too fond of criticizing. Ralph was ingenious, genteel in his manners, and extremely eloquent; I think I never knew a prettier talker. Both of them great admirers of poetry, and began to try their hands in little pieces. Many pleasant walks we four had together on Sun- days into the woods, near Schuylkill, where we read to one another, and conferred on w4iat we read. Ralph was inclined to pursue the study of poetry, not doubting but he might be- come eminent in it, and make his fortune by it, alleging that the best poets must, when they first begin to write, make as many faults as he did. Osborne dissuaded him, assured him he had no genius for poetry, and advised him to think of nothing beyond the business he was bred to; that, in the mer- cantile way, though he had no stock, he might, by his diligence and punctuality, recommend himself to employment as a factor, and in time acquire wherewith to trade on his own account. I approve/i the AUTOBIOGRAPHY 85 amusing one's self with poetry now and then, so far as to improve one's language, but no farther. On this it was proposed that we should each of us, at our next meeting, produce a piece of our own composing, in order to im- prove by our mutual observations, criticisms, and corrections. As language and expres- sion were what we had in view, we excluded all considerations of invention by agreeing that the task should be a version of the eighteenth Psalm, which describes the descent of a Deity. When the time of our meeting drew nigh, Ralph called on me first, and let me know his piece was ready. I told him I had been busy, and, having little inclination, had done nothing. He then showed me his piece for my opinion, and I much approved it, as it appeared to me to have great merit. "Now," says he, "Osborne never will allow the least merit in any thing of mine, but makes a thousand criticisms out of mere envy. He is not so jealous of you; I wish, therefore, you would take this piece, and produce it as yours; I will pretend not to have had time, and so produce nothing. We shall then see what he will say to it." It was agreed, and I im- mediately transcribed it, that it might appear in my own hand. We met; Watson's performance was read; there were some beauties in it, but many defects. Osborne's was read; it was much better; Ralph did it justice; remarked some faults, but applauded the beauties. He him- self had nothing to produce, I was back- ward; seemed desirous of being excused; had not had sufficient time to correct, etc.; but no excuse could be admitted; produce I must. It was read and repeated; Watson and Osborne gave up the contest, and joined in applauding it. Ralph only made some criticisms, and proposed some amendments; but I defended my text. Osborne was against Ralph, and told him he was no better a critic than poet, so he dropped the argu- ment. As they two went home together, Osborne expressed himself still more strongly in favor of what he thought my production; having restrained himself before, as he said, lest I should think it flattery. " But who would have imagined," said he, "that Frank- lin had been capable of such a performance; such painting, such force, such fire! He has even improved the original. In his com- mon conversation he seems to have no choice of words; he hesitates and blunders; and yet, good God! how he writes!" When we next met, Ralph discovered the trick we had played him, and Osborne was a little laughed at. This transaction fixed Ralph in his resolu- tion of becoming a poet. I did all I could to dissuade him from it, but he continued scribbling verses till Pope cured him.^ He became, however, a pretty good prose writer. More of him hereafter. But, as I may not have occasion again to mention the other two, I shall just remark here, that Watson died in my arms a few years after, much lamented, being the best of our set. Osborne went to the West Indies, where he became an eminent lawyer and made money, but died young. He and I had made a serious agreement that the one who hap- pened first to die should, if possible, make a friendly visit to the other, and acquaint him how he found things in that separate state. But he never fulfilled his promise. The governor, seeming to like my com- pany, had me frequently to his house, and his setting me up was always mentioned as a fixed thing. I was to take with me letters recommendatory to a number of his friends, besides the letter of credit to furnish me with the necessary money for purchasing the press and types, paper, etc. For these letters I was appointed to call at different times, when they were to be ready; but a future time was still named. Thus he went on till the ship, whose departure too had been several times postponed, was on the point of sailing. Then, when I called to take my leave and receive the letters, his secretary, Dr. Bard, came out to me and said the governor was extremely busy in writing, but would be 1 Two allusions to James Ralph were inserted by Pope in later editions of the Dunciad. The first is in the following couplet (I, 215-6): "And see! the very Gazetteers give o'er, E'en Ralph repents, and Henley writes no more." The second is the one which "cured" him (III, 165-6). "Silence, ye Wolves! while Ralph to Cynthia howls, And makes night hideous — Answer him, ye Owls!" As a political writer Ralph was successful. Pope and others agree in the accusation that he sold his services to the highest bidder, but at least the bidding was high, as he managed to secure a pension of £600 the year. 86 liENJAMIN FRANKLIN down at Newcastle before tlie ship, and there the letters would be delivered to nie. Ralph, thoiifih married, and having one child, had determined to accompany me in this voyage. It was thought he intended to establish a correspondence, and obtain goods to sell on commission; but I found after- wards, that, through some discontent with his wife's relations, he purposed to leave her on their hands, and never return again. Having taken leave of my friends, and inter- changed some promises with Miss Read, I left Philadelphia in the ship, which anchored at Newcastle. The governor was there; but when I went to his lodging the secretary came to me from him with the civillest message in the world, that he could not then see me, being engaged in business of the utmost importance, but should send the letters to me on board, wished me heartily a good voyage and a speedy return, etc. I returned on board a little puzzled, but still not doubting Mr.' Andrew Hamilton, a famous lawyer of Philadelphia, had taken passage in the same ship for himself and son, and with Mr. Denham, a Quaker merchant, and Messrs. Onion and Russel, masters of an iron work in Maryland, had engaged the great cabin; so that Ralph and I were forced to take up with a berth in the steerage, and none on board knowing us, were considered as ordinary persons. But Mr. Hamilton and his son (it was James, since governor) returned from Newcastle to Philadelphia, the father being recalled by a great fee to plead for a seized ship; and, just before we sailed, Colonel French coming on board, and showing me great respect, I was more taken notice of, and, with my friend Ralph, in- vited by the other gentlemen to come into the cabin, there being now room. Accord- ingly, we removed thither. Understanding that Colonel French had brought on board the governor's dispatches, I asked the captain for those letters that were to be under my care. He said all were put into the bag together and he could not then come at them; but before we landed in England I should have an opportunity of picking them out; so I was satisfied for the present, and we proceeded on our voyage. We had a sociable company in the cabin, and lived uncommonly well, having the addition of all Mr. Hamilton's stores, who had laid in plentifully. In this passage Mr. Deniiam conti acted a friendship for me that continued during his life. Ihe voyage was otherwise not a pleasant one, as we had a great deal of bad weather. When we came into the Channel, the captain kept his word with me, and gave me an opportunity of examining the bag for the governor's letters. I found none upon which my name was put as under my care. I picked out six or seven, that, by the hand- writing, I thought might be the promised letters, especially as one of them was directed to Basket, the king's printer, and another to some stationer. We arrived in London on the 24th of December, 1724. I waited upon the stationer, who came first in my way, delivering the letter as from Governor Keith. "I don't know such a person," says he; but, opening the letter, "Oh! this is from Rid- dlesden. I have lately found him to be a complete rascal, and I will have nothing to do with him, nor receive any letters from him." So, putting the letter into my hand, he turned on his heel and left me to serve some customer. I was surprised to find these were not the governor's letters; and after recollecting and comparing circumstances, I began to doubt his sincerity. I found my friend Denham, and opened the whole affair to him. He let me into Keith's character; told me there was not the least probability that he had written any letters for me; that no one who knew him had the smallest dependence on him; and he laughed at the notion of the governor's giving me a letter of credit, having, as he said, no credit to give. On my expressing some concern about what I should do, he advised me to endeavor getting some employment in the way of my business. "Among the printers here," said he, "you will improve yourself, and when you return to America, you will set up to greater advantage." We both of us happened to know, as well as the stationer, that Riddlesden, the at- torney, was a very knave. He had half ruined Miss Read's father by persuading him to be bound for him.i By this letter it appeared there was a secret scheme on foot to the prejudice of Hamilton (sup- 1 1.e.y to become responsible for payment of a note. AUTOBIOGRAPHY 87 posed to be then coming over with us); and that Keith was concerned in it with Riddles- den. Denham, who was a friend of Hamil- ton's, thought he ought to be acquainted with it; so, when he arrived in Enghmd, which was soon nfter, partly from resent- ment and ill-will to Keith and Riddlesden, and partly from good-will to him, I waited on him, and gave him the letter. He thanked me cordially, the information being of im- portance to him; and from that time he became my friend, greatly to my advantage afterwards on many occasions. But what shall we think of a governor's playing such pitiful tricks, and imposing so grossly on a poor ignorant boy! It was a habit he had acquired. He wished to please everybody; and, having little to give, he gave expectations. He was otherwise an ingenious, sensible man, a pretty good writer, and a good governor for the people, though not for his constituents, the proprietaries,^ whose instructions he sometimes disregarded. Several of our best laws were of his planning and passed during his administration. Ralph and I were inseparable com- panions. We took lodgings together in Little Britain at three shillings and six- pence a week — as much as we could then afford. He found some relations, but they were poor, and unable to assist him. He now let me know his intentions of remaining in London, and that he never meant to return to Philadelphia. He had brought no money with him, the whole he could muster having been expended in paying his passage. I had fifteen pistoles; so he borrowed occa- sionally of me to subsist, while he was looking out for business. He first endeavored to get into the playhouse, believing himself quali- fied for an actor; but Wilkes,^ to whom he applied, advised him candidly not to think of that employment, as it was impos- sible he should succeed in it. Then he pro- posed to Roberts, a publisher in Paternoster Row, to write for him a weekly paper like the Spectator, on certain conditions, which Roberts did not approve. Then he en- deavored to get employment as a hackney writer, to copy for the stationers and lawyers about the Temple, but could find no vacancy. 1 immediately got into work at Palmer's, » Proprietors, sons of William Penn. 2 A comedian. then a famous printing-house in Bartholo- mew Close, and here I continued near a year. I was pretty diligent, but spent with Ralph a good deal of my earnings in going to plays and other places of amusement. We had together consumed all my pistoles, and now just rubbed on from hand to mouth. He seemed quite to forget his wife and child, and I, by degrees, my engagements with Miss Read, to whom I never wrote more than one letter, and that was to let her know I was not likely soon to return. This was another of the great errata of my life, which I should wish to correct if I were to live it over again. In fact, by our expenses, I was constantly kept unable to pay my passage. At Palmer's I was employed in composing for the second edition of Wollaston's Religion of Nature.^ Some of his reasonings not appearing to me well founded, I wrote a little metaphysical piece in which I made remarks on them. It was entitled J Disser- tation on Liberty and Necessity, Pleasure and Pain. I inscribed it to my friend Ralph; I printed a small number. It occasioned my being more considered by Mr. Palmer as a young man of some ingenuity, though he seriously expostulated with me upon the principles of my pamphlet, which to him appeared abominable. My printing this pamphlet was another erratum. While I lodged in Little Britain, I made an acquaint- ance with one Wilcox, a bookseller, whose shop was at the next door. He had an im- mense collection of second-hand books. Circulating libraries were not then in use; but we agreed that, on certain reasonable terms, which I have now forgotten, I might take, read, and return any of his books. This I esteemed a great advantage, and I made as much use of it as I could. My pamphlet by some means falling into the hands of one Lyons, a surgeon, author of a book entitled The hifallibility of Human Judgment, it occasioned an acquaintance be- tween us. He took great- notice of me, called on me often to converse on those subjects, carried me to the Horns, a pale- alehouse in Lane, Cheapside, and introduced me to Dr. Mandeville, author of the Fable of the Bees, who had a club there, of which he was the soul, being a most face- 3 First ed'n, 172a; second, 1-726. Copies of the latter are not uncommon. 88 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN tious, entertaining companion. Lyons, too, introduced nie to Dr. Penibcrton, at I^at- son's Coffee-house, who promised to give me an opportunity, some time or other, of seeing Sir Isaac Newton, of which I was extremely desirous; but this never happened. I had brought over a few curiosities, among which the principal was a purse made of the asbestos, which purifies by fire. Sir Hans Sloane heard of it, came to see me, and invited me to his house in Bloomsbury Square, where he showed me all his curiosi- ties, and persuaded me to let him add that to the number, for which he paid me hand- somely.i In our house there lodged a young woman, a milliner, who, I think, had a shop in the Cloisters. She had been genteelly bred, was sensible and lively, and of most pleasing conversation. Ralph read plays to her in the evenings, they grew intimate, she took another lodging, and he followed her. They lived together some time; but, he being still out of business, and her income not sufficient to maintain them with her child, he took a resolution of going from London, to try for a country school, which he thought himself well qualified to undertake, as he wrote an excellent hand, and was a master of arith- metic and accounts. This, however, he deemed a business below him, and confident of future better fortune, when he should be unwilling to have it known that he once was so meanly employed, he changed his name, and did me the honor to assume mine; for I soon after had a letter from him, acquainting me that he was settled in a small village (in Berkshire, I think it was, where he taught reading and writing to ten or a dozen boys, at sixpence each per week), recommending Mrs. T to my care, and desiring me to write to him, directing for Mr. Franklin, school-master, at such a place. He continued to write frequently, sending me large specimens of an epic poem which he was then composing, and desiring my remarks and corrections. These I gave him from time to time, but endeavored rather to discourage his proceeding. One of Young's Satires was then just published. I copied and sent him a great part of it, which set in a strong light the folly of pursuing the Muses 1 Franklin had, in fact, written to the famous col- lector, offering to sell him the purse. with any hope of advancement by them.2 All was in vain; sheets of the poem con- tinued to come by every post. In the mean time, Mrs. T , having on his account lost her friends and business, was often in distresses, and used to send for me, and borrow what I could spare to help her out of them. I grew fond of her compan}'^, and, being at that time under no religious restraint and presuming upon my importance to her, I attempted familiarities (another erratum) which she repulsed with a proper resentment, and acquainted him with my behavior. This made a breach between us; and when he returned again to London, he let me know he thought I had canceled all the obligations he had been under to me. So I found I was never to expect his repaying me what I lent to him, or advanced for him. This, how- ever, was not then of much consequence, as he was totally unable; and in the loss of his friendship I found myself relieved from a burden. I now began to think of getting a little money beforehand, and, expecting better work, I left Palmer's to work at Watts's, near Lincoln's Inn Fields, a still greater printing-house. Here I continued all the rest of my stay in London. At my first admission into this printing- house I took to working at press,^ imagining I felt a want of the bodily exercise I had been used to in America, where presswork is mixed with composing. I drank only water; the other workmen, near fifty in number, were great guzzlers of beer. On occasion, I carried up and down stairs a large form of types in each hand, when others carried but one in both hands. They won- dered to see, from this and several instances, that the W ater- American, as they called me, was stro7iger than themselves, who drank strong beer! We had an alehouse boy who attended always in the house to supply the workmen. My companion at the press drank every day a pint before breakfast, a pint at breakfast with his bread and cheese, a pint between breakfast and dinner, a pint 2 Edward Young published separately, as they were written, a series of seven satires with the general title, Love of Fame, the Universal Passion, 1 725-1 728. The one of which Franklin copied a great part must have been Satire IV. 3 The press which Franklin worked at Watts's was acquired in 1841 by an American, and is now in the Patent Office, Washington. AUTOBIOGRAPHY 89 in the afternoon about six o'clock, and another when he had done his day's work. I thought it a detestable custom; but it was necessary, he supposed, to drink strong beer, that he might be strong to labor. I en- deavored to convince him that the bodily strength afforded by beer could only be in proportion to the grain or flour of the barley dissolved in the water of which it was made; that there was more flour in a pennyworth of bread; and therefore, if he would eat that with a pint of water, it would give him more strength than a quart of beer. He drank on, however, and had four or five shillings to pay out of his wages every Saturday night for that muddling liquor; an expense I was free from. And thus these poor devils keep themselves always under. Watts, after some weeks, desiring to have me in the composing-room, I left the press- men; a new bie?ivenu or sum for drink, being five shillings, was demanded of me by the compositors. I thought it an im- position, as I had paid below; the master thought so too, and forbade my paying it. I stood out two or three weeks, was accord- ingly considered as an excommunicate, and had so many little pieces of private mischief done me, by mixing my sorts, transposing my pages, breaking my matter, etc., etc., if I were ever so little out of the room, and all ascribed to the chapeU ghost, which they said ever haunted those not regularly ad- mitted, that, notwithstanding the master's protection, I found myself obliged to comply and pay the money, convinced of the folly of being on ill terms with those one is to live with continually. I was now on a fair footing with them, and soon acquired considerable influence. I proposed some reasonable alterations in their chapel laws, and carried them against all opposition. From my example, a great part of them left their muddling breakfast of beer, and bread, and cheese, finding they could with me be supplied from a neighbor- ing house with a large porringer of hot water-gruel, sprinkled with pepper, crumbed * Printing-houses were formerly called chapels in England. It has been suggested that this arose from the fact that the earliest English printer, Caxton, set up his press in a building, inside the precincts of West- minster Abbey, which, according to tradition, had anciently been a chapel. with bread, and a bit of butter in it, for the price of a pint of beer, viz., three half-pence. This was a more comfortable as well as cheaper breakfast, and kept their heads clearer. Those who continued sotting with beer all day, were often, by not paying, out of credit at the alehouse, and used to make interest with me to get beer; their light, as they phrased it, being out. I watched the pay-table on Saturday night, and collected what I stood engaged for them, having to pay sometimes near thirty shillings a week on their account. This, and my being esteemed a pretty good riggite, that is, a jocular verbal satirist, supported my consequence in the society. My constant attendance (I never making a St. Monday^) recommended me to the master; and my uncommon quick- ness at composing occasioned my being put upon all work of dispatch, which was gen- erally better paid. So I went on now very agreeably. My lodging in Little Britain being too remote, I found another in Duke-street, opposite to the Romish Chapel. It was two pair of stairs backwards, at an Italian ware- house.^ A widow lady kept the house; she had a daughter, and a maid servant, and a journeyman who attended the warehouse, but lodged abroad. After sending to inquire my character at the house where I last lodged, she agreed to take me in at the same rate, jj-. 6d. per week; cheaper, as she said, from the protection she expected in having a man lodge in the house. She was a widow, an elderly woman; had been bred a Protestant, being a clergyman's daughter, but was converted to the Catholic religion by her husband, whose memory she much revered; had lived much among people of distinction, and knew a thousand anecdotes of them as far back as the times of Charles the Second. She was lame in her knees with the gout, and, therefore, seldom stirred out of her room, so sometimes wanted company; and hers was so highly amusing to me, that I was sure to spend an evening with her whenever she desired it. Our supper was only half an anchovy each, on a very little strip of bread and butter, and half a pint of ale between us; but the entertainment was ^ I.e., an idle Monday. 3/.^., a shop having Italian wares. 90 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN in her conversation. My always keeping good hours, and giving little trouble in the family, made her unwilling to part with me; so that, when I talked of a lodging I had heard of, nearer my business, for two shill- ings a week, which, intent as I now was on saving money, made some difference, she bid me not think of it, for she would abate me two shillings a week for the future; so I remained with her at one shilling and six- pence as long as I stayed in London. In a garret of her house there lived a maiden lady of seventy, in the most retired manner, of whom my landlady gave me this account: that she was a Roman Catholic, had been sent abroad when young, and lodged in a nunnery with an intent of be- coming a nun; but, the country not agree- ing with her, she returned to England, where, there being no nunnery, she had vowed to lead the life of a nun, as near as might be done in those circumstances. According!}-, she had given all her estate to charitable uses, reserving only twelve pounds a year to live on, and out of this sum she still gave a great deal in charity, living herself on water-gruel only, and using no fire but to boil it. She had lived many years in that garret, being permitted to remain there gratis by successive Catholic tenants of the house below, as they deemed it a blessing to have her there. A priest visited her to confess her every day. "I have asked her," says my landlady, "how she, as she lived, could possibly find so much employment for a confessor.''" "Oh," said she, "it is im- possible to avoid vain thoughts." I was permitted once to visit her. She was cheer- ful and polite, and conversed pleasantly. The room was clean, but had no other furniture than a mattress, a table with a crucifix and book, a stool which she gave me to sit on, and a picture over the chimney of Saint Veronica displaying her handker- chief, with the miraculous figure of Christ's bleeding face on it, which she explained to me with great seriousness.^ She looked pale, but was never sick; and I give it as another instance on how small an income life and health may be supported. 1 The tradition is that when Jesus was on his way to Calvary a woman whom he passed lent him her handkerchief. He wiped his face with it, and after- wards it was miraculously impressed with his likeness. At Watts's printing-house I contracted an acquaintance with an ingenious young man, one Wygate, who, having wealthy relations, had been better educated than most printers; was a tolerable Latinist, spoke French, and loved reading. I taught him and a friend of his to swim at twice going into the river, and they soon became good swimmers. 1 hey introduced me to some gentlemen from the country, who went to Chelsea by water to see the College and Don Saltero's curiosities.^ In our return, at the request of the company, whose curiosity Wygate had excited, I stripped and leaped into the river, and swam from near Chelsea to Blackfriars, performing on the way many feats of activity, both upon and under water, that surprised and pleased those to whom they were novelties. I had from a child been ever delighted with this exercise, had studied and practiced all Thevenot's^ motions and positions, added some of my own, aiming at the grace- ful and easy as well as the useful. All these I took this occasion of exhibiting to the company, and was much flattered by their admiration; and Wygate, who was desirous of becoming a master, grew more and more attached to me on that account, as well as from the similarity of our studies. He at length proposed to me traveling all over Europe together, supporting ourselves every- where by working at our business. I was once inclined to it; but, mentioning it to my good friend Mr. Denham, with whom I often spent an hour when I had leisure, he dissuaded me from it, advising me to think only of returning to Pennsylvania, which he was now about to do. I must record one trait of this good man's character. He had formerly been in business at Bristol, but failed in debt to a number of people, compounded, and went to America. There, by a close application to business as a merchant, he acquired a plentiful fortune in a few years. Returning to England in the ship with me, he invited his old creditors to an entertainment, at which he thanked them for the easy composition they had 2 The "college" was probably Chelsea Hospital. Don Saltero was the proprietor of a Chelsea coffee- house. He had been a servant of Sir Hans Sloane, who had given him a number of curiosities. 3 Author of a treatise on swimming. AUTOBIOGRAPHY 91 favored him with, and, when they expected nothing but the treat, every man at the first remove found under his plate an order on a banker for the full amount of the unpaid remainder, with interest. He now told me he was about to return to Philadelphia, and should carry over a great quantity of goods in order to open a store there. He proposed to take me over as his clerk, to keep his books, in which he would instruct me, copy his letters, and attend the store. He added, that, as soon as I should be acquainted with mercantile business, he would promote me by sending me with a cargo of flour and bread, etc., to the West Indies, and procure me commissions from others which would be profitable; and, if I managed well, would establish me hand- somely. The thing pleased me; for I w^as grown tired of London, remembered with pleasure the happy months I had spent in Pennsylvania, and wished again to see it; therefore I immediately agreed on the terms of fifty pounds a year, Pennsylvania money; less, indeed, than my present gettings as a compositor, but affording a better prospect. I now took leave of printing, as I thought, for ever, and was daily employed in my new business, going about \\\t\\ Mr. Denham among the tradesmen to purchase various articles, and seeing them packed up, doing errands, calling upon workmen to dispatch, etc.; and, when all was on board, I had a few days' leisure. On one of these days, I was, to my surprise, sent for by a great man I knew only by name, a Sir William Wynd- ham, and I waited upon him. He had heard by some means or other of my swimming from Chelsea to Blackfriars, and of my teaching Wygate and another young man to swim in a few hours. He had two sons about to set out on their travels; he wished to have them first taught swimming, and proposed to gratify me handsomely if I would teach them. They were not yet come to town, and my stay was uncertain, so I could not undertake it; but, from this incident, I thought it likely that if I were to remain in England and open a swimming- school, I might get a good deal of money; and it struck me so strongly, that, had the overture been sooner made me, probably I should not so soon have returned to America. After many years, you and I had something of more importance to do with one of these sons of Sir William Wyndham, become Earl of Egremont, which I shall mention in its place. Thus I spent about eighteen months in London; most part of the time I w^orked hard at my business, and spent but little upon myself except in seeing plays and in books. My friend Ralph had kept me poor; he owed me about twenty-seven pounds, which I was now never likely to receive; a great sum out of my small earn- ings! I loved him, notwithstanding, for he had many amiable qualities. I had by no means improved my fortune; but I had picked up some very ingenious acquaintance, whose conversation was of great advantage to me; and I had read considerably. We sailed from Gravesend on the 23d of July, 1726. ***** We landed in Philadelphia on the nth of October, where I found sundry alterations. Keith was no longer governor, being super- seded by Major Gordon. I met him walking the streets as a common citizen. He seemed a little ashamed at seeing me, but passed without saying any thing. I should have been as much ashamed at seeing Miss Read, had not her friends, despairing with reason of my return after the receipt of my letter, persuaded her to marry another, one Rogers, a potter, which was done in my absence. With him, however, she was never happy, and soon parted from him, refusing to cohabit with him or bear his name, it being now said that he had another wife. He was a worthless fellow, though an excellent work- man, which was the temptation to her friends. He got into debt, ran away in 1727 or 1728, went to the West Indies, and died there. Keimer had got a better house, a shop well supplied with stationery, plenty of new types, a number of hands, though none good, and seemed to have a great deal of business. Mr. Denham took a store in Water-street, where we opened our goods; I attended the business diligently, studied accounts, and grew, in a little time, expert at selling. We lodged and boarded together; he counseled me as a father, having a sincere regard for me. I respected and loved him, and we might have gone on together very happy; but, in the beginning of February, 1727, 92 RENJAMIN FRANKLIN when I had just passed my twenty-first year, we both were taken ill. My distemper was a pleurisy, which very nearly carried me off. I suffered a p;ood deal, gave up the point in my own mind, and was rather disappointed when 1 found myself recovering, regretting, in some degree, that I must now, some time or other, have all that disagreeable work to do over again. I forget what his distemper was; it held him a long time, and at length carried him off. He left me a small legacy in a nuncupative will, as a token of his kind- ness for me, and he left me once more to the w'de world; for the store was taken into the care of his executors, and my employment under him ended. My brother-in-law. Holmes, being now at Philadelphia, advised my return to my business; and Keimer tempted me, with an offer of large wages by the year, to come and take the management of his printing- house, that he might better attend his stationer's shop. I had heard a bad charac- ter of him in London from his wife and her friends, and was not fond of having any more to do with him. I tried for farther employment as a merchant's clerk; but, not readily meeting with any, I closed again with Keimer. I found in his house these hands: Hugh Meredith, a Welsh Penn- sylvanian, thirty years of age, bred to country work; honest, sensible, had a great deal of solid observation, was something of a reader, but given to drink. Stephen Potts, a young countryman of full age, bred to the same, of uncommon natural parts, and great wit and humor, but a little idle. These he had agreed with at extreme low wages per week, to be raised a shilling every three months, as they would deserve by improving in their business; and the expectation of these high wages, to come on hereafter, was what he had drawn them in with. Meredith was to work at press. Potts at book-binding, which he, by agreement, was to teach them, though he knew neither one nor t'other. John , a wild Irishman, brought up to no business, whose service, for four years, Keimer had purchased from the captain of a ship*, he, too, was to be made a pressman. George Webb, an Ox- ford scholar, whose time for four years he had likewise bought, intending him for a compositor, of whom more presently; and David Harry, a country boy, whom he had taken apprentice. I soon perceived that the intention of engaging me at wages so much higher than he had been used to give, was, to have these raw, cheap hands formed through me; and, as soon as I had instructed them, then they being all articled to him, he should be able to do without me. I went on, however, very cheerfully, put his printing-house in order, which had been in great confusion, and brought his hands by degrees to mind their business and to do it better. It was an odd thing to find an Oxford scholar in the situation of a bought servant. He was not more than eighteen years of age, and gave me this account of himself: that he was born in Gloucester, educated at a grammar-school there, had been distin- guished among the scholars for some ap- parent superiority in performing his part, when they exhibited plays; belonged to the Witty Club there, and had written some pieces in prose and verse, which were printed in the Gloucester newspapers; thence he was sent to Oxford; where he continued about a year, but not well satisfied, wishing of all things to see London, and become a player. At length, receiving his quarterly allowance of fifteen guineas, instead of discharging his debts he walked out of town, hid his gown in a furze bush, and footed it to London, where, having no friend to advise him, he fell into bad company, soon spent his guineas, found no means of being introduced among the players, grew necessitous, pawned his clothes, and wanted bread. Walking the street very hungry, and not knowing what to do with himself, a crimp's bill was put into his hand, offering immediate enter- tainment and encouragement to such as would bind themselves to serve in America. He went directly, signed indentures, was put into the ship, and came over, never writing a line to acquaint his friends what was become of him. He was lively, witty, good-natured, and a pleasant companion, but idle, thoughtless, and imprudent to the last degree. John, the Irishman, soon ran away; with the rest I began to live very agreeably, for they all respected me the more, as they found Keimer incapable of instructing them, and that from me they learned something AUTOBIOGRAPHY 93 daily. We never worked on Saturday, that being Keimer's Sabbath, so I had two days for reading. My acquaintance with in- genious people in the town increased. Keimer himself treated me with great civility and apparent regard, and nothing now made me uneasy but my debt to Ver- non, which I was yet unable to pay, being hitherto but a poor economist. He, however, kindly made no demand of it. Our printing-house often wanted sorts, and there was no letter-founder in America; I had seen types cast at James's in London, but without much attention to the manner; however, I now contrived a mold, made use of the letters we had as puncheons, struck the matrices in lead, and thus sup- plied in a pretty tolerable way all deficiencies. I also engraved several things on occasion; I made the ink; I was warehouseman, and everything, and, in short, quite a factotum. But, however serviceable I might be, I found that my services became every day of less importance, as the other hands im- proved in the business; and, when Keimer paid my second quarter's wages, he let me know that he felt them too heavy, and thought I should make an abatement. He grew by degrees less civil, put on more of the master, frequently found fault, was captious, and seemed ready for an outbreak- ing. I went on, nevertheless, with a good deal of patience, thinking that his encum- bered circumstances were partly the cause. At length a trifle snapped our connections; for, a great noise happening near the court- house, I put my head out of the window to see what was the matter. Keimer, being in the street, looked up and saw me, called out to me in a loud voice and angry tone to mind my business, adding some reproachful words, that nettled me the more for their publicity, all the neighbors who were look- ing out on the same occasion, being witnesses how I was treated. He came up immedi- ately into the printing-house, continued the quarrel, high words passed on both sides, he gave me the quarter's warning we had stipulated, expressing a wish that he had not been obliged to so long a warning. I told him his wish was unnecessary, for I would leave him that instant; and so, taking my hat, walked out of doors, desiring Meredith, whom I saw below, to take care of some things I left, and bring them to my lodgings. Meredith came accordingly in the evening, when we talked my affair over. He had con- ceived a great regard for me, and was very unwilling that I should leave the house while he remained in it. He dissuaded me from returning to my native country, which I began to think of; he reminded me that Keimer was in debt for all he possessed; that his creditors began to be uneasy; that he kept his shop miserably, sold often with- out profit for ready money, and often trusted without keeping accounts; that he must therefore fail, which would make a vacancy I might profit of. I objected my want of money. He then let me know that his father had a high opinion of me, and, from some discourse that had passed between them, he was sure would advance money to set us up, if I would enter into partnership with him. "My time," says he, "will be out with Keimer in the spring; by that time we may have our press and types in from London. I am sensible I am no work- man; if you like it, your skill in the business shall be set against the stock I furnish, and we will share the profits equally." The proposal was agreeable, and I con- sented; his father was in town and approved of it; the more as he saw I had great influ- ence with his son, had prevailed on him to abstain long from dram-drinking, and he hoped might break him of that wretched habit entirely, when we came to be so closely connected. I gave an inventory to the father, who carried it to a merchant; the things were sent for, the secret was to be kept till they should arrive, and in the mean time I was to get work, if I could, at the other printing-house. But I found no vacancy there, and so remained idle a few days, when Keimer, on a prospect of being employed to print some paper money in New Jersey, which would require cuts and various types that I only could supply, and apprehending Bradford might engage me and get the job from him, sent me a very civil message, that old friends should not part for a few words, the effect of sudden passion, and wishing me to return. Meredith persuaded me to comply, as it would give more opportunity for his improvement under my daily instructions; so I returned, and ^4 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN \vc went on more smoothly than for some time luforc. I he New Jersey job was obtained, 1 contrived a copper-phite press for it, the first that had been seen in tlie country; I cut several ornaments and checks for the bills. We went together to Burlington, where I executed the whole to satisfaction; and he received so large a sum for the work as to be enabled thereby to keep his head much longer above water. At Ikirlington I made an acquaintance with many principal people of the province. Several of them had been appointed by the Assembly a committee to attend the press, and take care that no more bills were printed than the law directed. 1 hey were therefore, by turns, constantly with us, and generally he who attended brought with him a friend or two for company. My mind having been much more improved by reading than Keimer's, I suppose it was for that reason my conversation seemed to be more valued. They had me to their houses, introduced me to their friends, and showed me much civility; while he, though the master, was a little neglected. In truth, he was an odd fish, ignorant of common life, fond of rudely opposing received opinions, slovenly to extreme dirtiness, enthusiastic in some points of religion, and a little knavish withal. We continued there near three months; and by that time I could reckon among my acquired friends Judge Allen, Samuel Bus- till, the secretary of the province, Isaac Pearson, Joseph Cooper, and several of the Smiths, members of Assembly, and Isaac Decow, the surveyor-general. The latter was a shrewd, sagacious old man, who told me that he began for himself, when young, by wheeling clay for the brickmakers; learned to write after he was of age, carried the chain for surveyors who taught him sur- veying and he had now by his industry acquired a good estate; and, says he, "1 foresee that you will soon work this man out of his business, and make a fortune at it in Philadelphia." He had not then the least intimation of my intention to set up there or anywhere. These friends were afterwards of great use to me, as I occasionally was to some of them. They all continued their regard for me as long as they lived. IBefore I enter upon my public appearance in business, it may be well to let you know the then state of my mind with regard to my principles and morals, that you may see how far those influenced the future events of my life. My parents had early given me religious impressions, and brought me through my childhood piously in the Dis- senting way. But I was scarce fifteen when, after doubting by turns of several points, as I found them disputed in the different books I read, I began to doubt of Revelation itself. Some books against Deism fell into my hands; they were said to be the sub- stance of sermons preached at Boyle's Lectures. It happened that they wrought an eflPect on me quite contrary to what was intended by them; for the arguments of the Deists, which were quoted to be refuted, appeared to me much stronger than the refutations; in short, I soon became a thorough Deist. My arguments perverted some others, particularly Collins and Ralph; but each of them having afterwards wronged me greatly without the least compunction, and recollecting Keith's conduct towards me (who was another freethinker), and my own towards Vernon and Miss Read, which at times gave me great trouble, I began to suspect that this doctrine, though it might be true, was not very useful. My London pamphlet,^ which had for its motto these lines of Dryden: Whatever is, is right. Though purblind man Sees but a part o' the chain, the nearest link: His eyes not carrying to the equal beam, That poises all above;^ and from the attributes of God, his infinite wisdom, goodness, and power, concluded that nothing could possibly be wrong in the world, and that vice and virtue were empty distinctions, no such things existing, ap- peared now not so clever a performance as I once thought it; and I doubted whether some error had not insinuated itself un- perceived into my argument, so as to infect all that followed, as is common in meta- physical reasonings. ' The occasion of its composition has earlier been mentioned. It was printed in 1725. ' ^ From Dryden's (Edipus, III, i (p. 184 of Vol. ^'^ of the Scott-Saintsbury ed'n). Quoted very inexact.,, , Franklin gives Pope's famous assertion {Essay on Man, I, 294; IV, 145, 394). Dryden's words are: "Whatever is, is in its causes just; Since all things are by fate." AUTOBIOGRAPHY 95 I grew convinced that truth, sincerity, and integrity in dealings between man and man were of the utmost importance to the feHcity of life; and I formed written resolutions, which still remain in my journal book, to practice them ever while I lived. Revela- tion had indeed no weight with me, as such; but I entertained an opinion that, though certain actions might not be bad because they were forbidden by it, or good because it commanded them, yet probably those actions might be forbidden because they were bad for us, or commanded because they were beneficial to us, in their own natures, all the circumstances of things considered. And this persuasion, with the kind hand of Providence, or some guardian angel, or accidental favorable circumstances and situ- ations, or all together, preserved me, through this dangerous time of youth, and the hazardous situations I was sometimes in among strangers remote from the eye and advice of my father, without any willful gross immorality or injustice that might have been expected from my want of religion. 1 I say willful, because the in- stances I have mentioned had something of necessity in them, from my youth, inexperi- ence, and the knavery of others. I had therefore a tolerable character to begin with; I valued it properly, and determined to preserve it. We had not been long returned to Phila- delphia before the new types arrived from London. We settled with Keimer, and left him by his consent before he heard of it. We found a house to hire near the market, and took it. To lessen the rent, which was then but twenty-four pounds a year, though I have since known it to let for seventy, we took in Thomas Godfrey, a glazier, and his family, who were to pay a considerable part of it to us, and we to board with them. We had scarce opened our letters and put our press in order, before George House, an acquaintance of mine, brought a country- man to see us, whom he had met in the street inquiring for a printer. All our cash 1 Originally these words followed here: "Some fool- ish intrigues with low women excepted, which from the expense were rather more prejudicial to me than to them." But Franklin crossed this out; and substi- tuted for it in the margin the sentence which follows in the text. was now expended in the variety of particu- lars we had been obliged to procure, and this countryman's five shillings, being our first-fruits, and coming so seasonably, gave me more pleasure than any crown I have since earned; and the gratitude I felt towards House has made me often more ready than perhaps I should otherwise have been to assist young beginners. There are croakers in every country, always boding its ruin. Such a one then lived in Philadelphia; a person of note, an elderly man with a wise look and a very grave manner of speaking; his name was Samuel Mickle. This gentleman, a stranger to me, stopped one day at my door, and asked me if I was the young man who had lately opened a new printing-house. Being answered in the affirmative, he said he was sorry for me, because it was an expensive undertaking and the expense would be lost; for Philadelphia was a sinking place, the people already half bankrupts or near being so; all appearances to the contrary, such as new buildings and the rise of rents, being to his certain knowledge fallacious; for they were, in fact, among the things that would soon ruin us. And he gave me such a detail of misfortunes now existing, or that were soon to exist, that he left me half melancholy. Had I known him before I engaged in this business, probably I never should have done it. This man continued to live in this decaying place, and to declaim in the same strain, refusing for many years to buy a house there, because all was going to destruction; and at last I had the pleasure of seeing him give five times as much for one as he might have bought it for when he first began his croaking. I should have mentioned before, that, in the autumn of the preceding year, I had formed most of my ingenious acquaintance into a club of mutual improvement which we called the Junto;^ we met on Friday evenings. The rules that I drew up required that every member in his turn should pro- duce one or more queries on any point of Morals, Politics, or Natural Philosophy, to be discussed by the company; and once in three months produce and read an essay of 2 The impulse to do this Franklin may have deiived from Cotton Mather's Essays to do Good, a book whose influence upon him he has earlier mentioned. 96 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN his own writinp, on any subject he pleased. Our debates were to be under the direction of a president, and to be conducted in the sincere spirit of injury after truth, without fondness for dispute or desire of victory; and, to prevent warmth, all expressions of positiveness in opinions or direct contra- diction were after some time made contra- band and prohibited under small pecuniary penalties. The first members were Joseph Breintnal, a copier of deeds for the scriveners, a good- natured, friendly, middle-aged man, a great lover of poetry, reading all he could meet with, and writing some that was tolerable; very ingenious in many little Nicknackeries, and of sensible conversation. Thomas Godfrey, a self-taught mathe- matician, great in his way, and afterward inventor of what is now called Hadley's Quadrant. But he knew little out of his way, and was not a pleasing companion; as, like most great mathematicians I have met with, he expected universal precision in every thing said, or was for ever denying or distinguishing upon trifles, to the dis- turbance of all conversation. He soon left us. Nicholas Scull, a surveyor, afterward surveyor-general, who loved books and sometimes made a few verses. William Parsons, bred a shoemaker, but, loving reading, had acquired a considerable share of mathematics, which he first studied with a view to astrology, that he afterwards laughed at. He also became surveyor- general. William Maugridge, a joiner, a most ex- quisite mechanic, and a solid, sensible man. Hugh Meredith, Stephen Potts, and George Webb I have characterized before. Robert Grace, a young gentleman of some fortune, generous, lively, and witty; a lover of punning and of his friends. And William Coleman, then a merchant's clerk, about my age, who had the coolest, clearest head, the best heart, and the exactest morals of almost any man I ever met with. He became afterwards a mer- chant of great note, and one of our provincial judges. Our friendship continued without interruption to his death, upward of forty years; and the club continued almost as long, and was the best school of philosophy, morality, and politics that then existed in the province; for our queries, which were read the week preceding their discussion, put us upon reading with attention upon the several subjects, that we might speak more to the purpose; and here, too, we acquired better habits of conversation, every thing being studied in our rules which might pre- vent our disgusting each other. From hence the long continuance of . the club, which I shall have frequent occasion to speak further of hereafter. But my giving this account of it here is to show something of the interest I had, every one of these exerting themselves in recommending business to us. Breintnal, particularly, procured us from the Quakers the printing forty sheets of their history, the rest being to be done by Keimer; and upon this we worked exceedingly hard, for the price was low. It was a folio, pro patria size in pica, with long primer notes. I composed of it a sheet a day, and Mere- dith worked it off at press; it was often eleven at night, and sometimes later, before I had finished my distribution for the next day's work, for the little jobs sent in by our other friends now and then put us back. But so determined I was to continue doing a sheet a day of the folio, that one night, when, having imposed my forms, I thought my day's work over, one of them by acci- dent .was broken, and two pages reduced to pi, I immediately distributed and com- posed it over again before I went to bed; and this industry, visible to our neighbors, began to give us character and credit; par- ticularly, I was told, that mention being made of the new printing-office at the mer- chants' Every-night club, the general opinion was that it must fail, there being already two printers in the place, Keimer and Bradford; but Dr. Baird (whom you and I saw many years after at his native place, St. Andrews in Scotland) gave a contrary opinion: "For the industry of that Frank- lin," says he, "is superior to any thing I ever saw of the kind; I see him still at work when I go home from club, and he is at work again before his neighbors are out of bed." This struck the rest, and we soon after had offers from one of them to supply us with stationery; but as yet we did not choose to engage in shop business. AUTOBIOGRAPHY 97 I mention this industry the more par- ticularly and the more freely, though it seems to be talking in my own praise, that those of my posterity, who shall read it, may know the use of that virtue, when they see its effects in my favor throughout this relation. George Webb, who had found a female friend that lent him wherewith to purchase his time of Keimer, now came to offer him- self as a journeyman to us. We could not then employ him; but I foolishly let him know as a secret that I soon intended to begin a newspaper, and might then have work for him. My hopes of success, as I told him, were founded on this, that the then only newspaper, printed by Bradford, was a paltry thing, wretchedly managed, no way entertaining, and yet was profitable to him; I therefore thought a good paper would scarcely fail of good encouragement. I requested Webb not to mention it; but he told it to Keimer, who immediately, to be beforehand with me, published proposals for printing one himself, on which Webb was to be employed. I resented this; and, to counteract them, as I could not yet begin our paper, I wrote several pieces of entertain- ment for Bradford's paper, under the title of the Busy Body which Breintnal con- tinued some months. By this means the attention of the public was fixed on that paper, and Keimer's proposals, which we burlesqued and ridiculed, were disregarded. He began his paper, however, and, after carrying it on three quarters of a year, with at most, only ninety subscribers, he offered it to me for a trifle; and I, having been ready some time to go on with it, took it in hand directly; and it proved in a few years extremely profitable to me.i I perceive that I am apt to speak in the singular number, though our partnership still continued; the reason may be that, in fact, the whole management of the business lay upon me. Meredith was no compositor, a poor pressman, and seldom sober. My friends lamented my connection with him, but I was to make the best of it. Our first papers made a quite different ' Keimer's paper was called The Universal Instructor in all Arts and Sciences and Pennsylvania Gazette. Franklin's first issue appeared on 2 October, 1729, with the title, The Pennsylvania Gazette. appearance from any before in the province; a better type, and better printed; but some spirited remarks of my writing, on the dis- pute then going on between Governor Burnet and the Massachusetts Assembly,^ struck the principal people, occasioned the paper and the manager of it to be much talked of, and in a few weeks brought them all to be our subscribers. Their example was followed by many, and our number went on growing con- tinually. This was one of the first good effects of my having learned a little to scribble; another was, that the leading men, seeing a newspaper now in the hands of one who could also handle a pen, thought it convenient to oblige and encourage me. Bradford still printed the votes, and laws, and other public business. He had printed an address of the House to the governor, in a coarse, blundering manner; we re- printed it elegantly and correctly, and sent one to every member. They were sensible of the difference; it strengthened the hands of our friends in the House, and they voted us their printers for the year ensuing. Among my friends in the House I must not forget Mr. Hamilton, before mentioned, who was then returned from England, and had a seat in it. He interested himself for me strongly in that instance, as he did in many others afterward, continuing his patronage till his death.^ Mr. Vernon, about this time, put me in mind of the debt I owed him, but did not press me. I wrote him an ingenuous letter of acknowledgment, craved his forbearance a little longer, which he allowed me, and as soon as I was able, I paid the principal with interest, and many thanks; so that erratum was in some degree corrected. But now another difficulty came upon me which I had never the least reason to expect. Mr. Meredith's father, who was to have paid for our printing-house, according to the expectations given me, was able to advance only one hundred pounds currency, which had been paid; and a hundred more was due 2 Concerning the governor's salary. The Assembly was insisting on its right to fix the amount, and Frank- lin supported its "ardent spirit of liberty" and "un- daunted courage." > I got his son once £500. (Franklin's note.) 98 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN to the merchant, who j^rcw impatient, and sued us all. We gave bail, but saw that, if the money could not be raised in time, the suit must soon come to a judgment and execution, and our hopeful prospects must, with us, be ruined, as the press and letters must be sold for payment, perhaps at half price. In this distress two true friends, whose kindness I have never forgotten, nor ever shall forget while I can remember any thing, came to me separately, unknown to each other and without any application from me, offering each of them to advance me all the money that should be necessary to enable me to take the w^hole business upon myself, if that should be practicable; but they did not like my continuing the partnership with Meredith, who, as they said, was often seen drunk in the streets, and playing at low games in alehouses, much to our discredit. These two friends were William Coleman and Robert Grace. I told them I could not propose a separation while any prospect remained of the Merediths' fulfilling their part of our agreement, because I thought myself under great obligations to them for what they had done, and would do if they could; but, if they finally failed in their performance, and our partnership must be dissolved, I should then think myself at liberty to accept the assistance of my friends. Thus the matter rested for some time, when I said to my partner: "Perhaps your father is dissatisfied at the part you have undertaken in this affair of ours, and is unwilling to advance for you and me what he would for you alone. If that is the case, tell me, and I will resign the whole to you, and go about my business." "No," said he, "my father has really been disappointed, and is really unable; and I am unwilling to distress him farther. I see this is a business I am not fit for. I was bred a farmer, and it was a folly in me to come to town, and put myself, at thirty years of age, an apprentice to learn a new trade. Many of our Welsh people are going to settle in North Carolina where land is cheap. I am mchned to go with them, and follow^ my old employment. You may find friends to assist you. If you wmII take the debts of the company upon you; return to my father the hundred pound he has advanced; pay my little per- sonal debts and give me thirty pounds and a new saddle, I will relinquish the partner- ship, and leave the whole in your hands." I agreed to this proposal; it was drawn up in writing, signed and sealed immediately. I gave him what he demanded, and he went soon after to Carolina, from whence he sent me next year two long letters containing the best account that had been given of that country, the climate, the soil, husbandry, etc.y for in those matters he was very ju- dicious. I printed them in the papers, and they gave great satisfaction to the public. As soon as he was gone I recurred to my two friends; and because I would not give an unkind preference to either I took half of what each had offered and I wanted of one, and half of the other; paid off the company's debts and went on with the busi- ness in my own name, advertising that the partnership was dissolved. I think this was in or about the year 1729.1 About this time there was a cry among the people for more paper money, only fifteen thousand pounds being extant in the prov- ince, and that soon to be sunk. The wealthy inhabitants opposed any addition, being against all paper currency, from an appre- hension that it would depreciate, as it had done in New England, to the prejudice of all creditors. We had discussed this point in our Junto where I w^as on the side of an addition, being persuaded that the first small sum struck in 1723 had done much good by increasing the trade, employment, and number of inhabitants in the province, since I now saw all the old houses inhabited, and many new ones building; whereas I remembered well, that when I first walked about the streets of Philadelphia, eating my roll, I saw most of the houses in Walnut- street, between Second and Front streets, with bills on their doors, "To be let"; and many likew^ise in Chestnut-street and other streets, which made me then think the inhabitants of the city were deserting it one after another. Our debates possessed me so fully of the subject, that I wrote and printed an anony- mous pamphlet on it, entitled The Nature and Necessity of a Paper Currency. It was well 1 The agreement of dissolution (examined by Sparks) shows that it occurred on 14 July, 1730. AUTOBIOGRAPHY 99 received by the common people in general; but the rich men disliked it, for it increased and strengthened the clamor for more money, and they happening to have no writers among them that were able to answer it, their opposition slackened, and the point was carried by a majority in the House. My friends there who conceived I had been of some service, thought fit to reward me by employing me in printmg the money; a very profitable job and a great help to me. This was another advantage gained by my being able to write. The utility of this currency became by time and experience so evident as never afterwards to be much disputed; so that it grew soon to fifty-five thousand pounds, and in 1739 to eighty thousand pounds, since which it arose during the war to up- wards of three hundred and fifty thousand pounds, trade, building, and inhabitants all the while increasing, though I now think there are limits beyond which the quantity may be hurtful. I soon after obtained, through my friend Hamilton, the printing of the Newcastle paper money, another profitable job as I then thought it; small things appearmg great to those in small circumstances; and these, to me, were really great advantages as they were great encouragements. He pro- cured for me, also, the prmting of the laws and votes of that government,^ which con- tinued in my hands as long as I followed the business. I now opened a little stationer's shop. I had in it blanks of all sorts, the correctest that ever appeared among us, being assisted in that by my friend Breintnal. I had also paper, parchment, chapmen's books, etc. One Whitemash, a compositor I had known in London, an excellent workman, now came to me, and worked with me constantly and diligently; and I took an apprentice, the son of Aquila Rose. I began now gradually to pay off the debt I was under for the printing-house. In order to secure my credit and character as a trades- man, I took care not only to be in reality industrious and frugal, but to avoid all appearances to the contrary. I dressed plainly; I was seen at no places of idle 1 Delaware. diversion. I never went out a-fishing or shooting; a book, indeed, sometimes de- bauched me from my work, but that was seldom, snug, and gave no scandal, and, to show that I was not above my business, I sometimes brought home the paper I pur- chased at the stores through the streets on a wheelbarrow. Ihus bemg esteemed an industrious, thriving young man, and pay- ing duly for what I bought, the merchants who imported stationery solicited my cus- tom; others proposed supplying me with books, and I went on swimmingly. In the mean time, Keimer's credit and business dechning daily, he was at last forced to sell his printing-house to satisfy his creditors. He went to Barbadoes, and there lived some years m very poor circumstances. His apprentice, David Harry, whom I had instructed while I worked with him, set up in his place at Philadelphia, having bought his materials. I was at first apprehensive of a powerful rival in Harry, as his friends were very able, and had a good deal of interest. I therefore proposed a partner- ship to him, which he, fortunately for me, rejected with scorn. He was very proud, dressed like a gentleman, lived expensively, took much diversion and pleasure abroad, ran in debt, and neglected his business; upon which, all business left him; and, finding nothing to do, he followed Keimer to Bar- badoes, taking the printing-house with him. There this apprentice employed his former master as a journeyman; they quarreled often; Harry went continually behindhand, and at length was forced to sell his types and return to his country work in Pennsylvania. The person that bought them employed Keimer to use them, but in a few years he died. There remained now no competitor with me at Philadelphia but the old one, Brad- ford; who was rich and easy, did a little printing now and then by straggling hands, but was not very anxious about the business. However, as he kept the post-office, it was imagined he had better opportunities of ob- taining news; his paper was thought a better distributor of advertisements than mine, and therefore had many more, which was a profitable thing to him, and a disadvantage to me; for, though I did indeed receive and send papers by the post, yet the public lOO BENJAMIN FRANKLIN opinion was otherwise, for what I did send was by hribinp; the riders, who took them privately, Bradford being unkind enough to forbid it, which occasioned some resentment on my part; and I thought so meanly of him for it, that, when I afterward came into his situation, I took care never to imitate it. I had hitherto continued to board with Godfrey, who Hved in part of my house with his wife and children, and had one side of the shop for his glazier's business, though he worked little, being always absorbed in his mathematics. Mrs. Godfrey projected a match for me with a relation's daughter, took opportunities of bringing us often to- gether, till a serious courtship on my part ensued, the girl being in herself very deserv- ing. The old folks encouraged me by con- tinual invitations to supper, and by leaving us together, till at length it was time to explain. Mrs. Godfrey managed our little treaty. I let her know that I expected as much money with their daughter as would pay off my remaining debt for the printing- house, which I believe was not then above a hundred pounds. She brought me word they had no such sum to spare; I said they might mortgage their house in the loan- office. The answer to this, after some days, was, that they did not approve the match; that, on inquiry of Bradford, they had been informed the printing business was not a profitable one; the types would soon be worn out, and more wanted; that S. Keimer and D. Harry had failed one after the other, and I should probably soon follow them; and, therefore, 1 was forbidden the house, and the daughter shut up. Whether this was a real change of senti- ment or only artifice, on a supposition of our being too far engaged in affection to retract, and therefore that we should steal a mar- riage, which would leave them at liberty to give or withhold what they pleased, I know not; but I suspected the latter, resented it, and went no more. Mrs. Godfrey brought me afterward some more favorable accounts of their disposition, and would have drawn me on again; but I declared absolutely my resolution to have nothing more to do with that family. This was resented by the Godfreys; we differed, and they removed, leaving me the whole house, and 1 resolved to take no more inmates. But this affair havmg turned my thoughts to marriage, I looked round me and made overtures of acquaintance in other places; but soon found that, the business of a printer bemg generally thought a poor one, I was not to expect money with a wife, unless with such a one as I should not otherwise think agreeable. In the mean time, that hard-to-be-governed passion of youth hurried me frequently into intrigues with low women that fell in my way, which were attended with some expense and great inconvenience, besides a continual risk to my health by a distemper which of all things I dreaded, though by great good luck I escaped it. A friendly correspondence as neighbors and old acquaintances had continued between me and Mrs. Read's family, who all had a regard for me from the time of my first lodging in their house. I was often invited there and consulted in their affairs, wherein I sometimes was of service. I pitied poor Miss Read's unfortunate situation, who was generally dejected, seldom cheerful, and avoided company. I considered my giddi- ness and inconsistency when in London as in a great degree the cause of her unhappi- ness, though the mother was good enough to think the fault more her own than mine, as she had prevented our marrymg before I went thither, and persuaded the other match in my absence. Our mutual affection was revived, but there were now great objections to our union. The match^ was indeed looked upon as invalid, a precedmg wife being said to be living in England; but this could not easily be proved, because of the distance; and, though there was a report of his death, it was not certain. Then, though it should be true, he had left many debts, which his successor might be called upon to pay. We ventured, however, over all these difficulties, and I took her to wife, September ist, 1730. None of the inconveniences happened that we had apprehended; she proved a good and faithful helpmate, assisted me much by attending the shop; we throve together, and have ever mutually endeavored to make each other happy. Thus I corrected that great erratum as well as I could. About this time, our club meeting, not at a tavern, but in a little room of Mr. 1 1.e.y Miss Read's marriage whileFranklin was in London. AUTOBIOGRAPHY lOI Grace's, set apart for that purpose, a propo- sition was made by me, that, since our books were often referred to in our disquisitions upon the queries, it might be convenient to us to have them altogether where we met, that upon occasion they might be consulted; and by thus clubbing our books to a common library, we should, while we liked to keep them together, have each of us the advantage of using the books of all the other members, which would be nearly as beneficial as if each owned the whole. It was liked and agreed to, and we filled one end of the room with such books as we could best spare. The number was not so great as we expected; and though they had been of great use, yet some inconveniences occurring for want of due care of them, the collection, after about a year, was separated, and each took his books home again. And now I set on foot my first project of a public nature, that for a subscription library. I drew up the proposals, got them put into form by our great scrivener. Brock- den, and, by the help of my friends in the Junto, procured fifty subscribers of forty shillings each to begin with, and ten shil- lings a year for fifty years, the term our company was to continue. We afterwards obtained a charter, the company being in- creased to one hundred: this was the mother of all the North American subscription libraries, now so numerous. It is become a great thing itself, and continually increasing. These libraries have improved the general conversation of the Americans, made the common tradesmen and farmers as intelligent as most gentlemen from other countries, and perhaps have contributed in some degree to the stand so generally made throughout the colonies in defense of their privileges. ^ Though I seldom attended any public worship, I had still an opinion of its pro- priety, and of its utility when rightly con- ducted, and I regularly paid my annual subscription for the support of the only Presbyterian minister or meeting we had in Philadelphia. He used to visit me some- times as a friend, and admonish me to attend his administrations, and I was now and then iThis concludes the portion of the Autobiography written in 1771. prevailed on to do so, once for five Sundays successively. Had he been in my opinion a good preacher, perhaps I might have con- tinued, notwithstanding the occasion I had for the Sunday's leisure in my course of study; but his discourses were chiefly either polemic arguments, or explications of the peculiar doctrines of our sect, and were all to me very dry, uninteresting, and unedify- ing, since not a single moral principle was inculcated or enforced, their aim seeming to be rather to make us Presbyterians than good citizens. At length he took for his text that verse of .the fourth chapter of Philippians: ^^ Fi- nallyy brethren^ whatsoever things are true^ honesty just, pure, lovely, or of good report, if there be any virtue, or any praise, think on these things'* And I imagined, in a sermon on such a text, we could not miss of having some morality. But he confined himself to five points only, as meant by the apostle, viz.: I. Keeping holy the Sabbath day. 2. Being diligent in reading the holy Scriptures. 3. Attending duly the public worship. 4. Partaking of the Sacrament. 5. Paying a due respect to God's ministers. These might be all good things; but, as they were not the kind of good things that I expected from that text, I despaired of ever meeting with them from any other, was disgusted, and attended his preaching no more. I had some years before composed a little Liturgy, or form of prayer, for my own private use {viz., in 1728), entitled Articles of Belief and Acts of Religion. I returned to the use of this, and went no more to the public assem- blies. My conduct might be blamable, but I leave it, without attempting further to excuse it; my present purpose being to relate facts, and not to make apologies for them. It was about this time I conceived the bold and arduous project of arriving at moral perfection. I wished to live without com- mitting any fault at any time; I would con- quer all that either natural inclination, custom, or company might lead me into. As I knew, or thought I knew, what was right and wrong, I did not see why I might not always do the one and avoid the other. But I soon found I had undertaken a task of more diflftculty than I had imagined. While my care was employed in guarding against one fault, I was often surprised by another; I02 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN habit took tlie aclvantaj2;e of inattention; inclination was sometimes too strong for reason. I concluded, at length, that the mere speculative conviction that it was our interest to be completely virtuous, was not sufficient to prevent our slipping; and that the contrary habits must be broken, and good ones acquired and established, before we can have any dependence on a steady, uniform rectitude of conduct. For this purpose I therefore contrived the following method. In the various enumerations of the moral virtues I had met with in my reading, I found the catalogue more or less numerous, as different writers included more or fewer ideas under the same name. Temperance, for example, was by some confined to eating and drinking, while by others it was ex- tended to mean the moderating every other pleasure, appetite, inclination, or passion, bodily or mental, even to our avarice and ambition. I proposed to myself, for the sake of clearness, to use rather more names, with fewer ideas annexed to each, than a few names with more ideas; and I included under thirteen names of virtues all that at that time occurred to me as necessary or desirable, and annexed to each a short pre- cept, which fully expressed the extent I gave to its meaning. 7 hese names of virtues, with their pre- cepts, were: I. Temperance Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation. 2. Silence Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation. 3. Order Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time. 4. Resolution Resolve to perform what you ought; per- form without fail what you resolve. 5. Frugality Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i. e., waste nothing. 6. Industry Lose no time; be always employed in some- thing useful; cut off all unnecessary actions. 7. Sincerity Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly; and, if you speak, speak accordingly. 8. Justice Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty. 9. Moderation Avoid extremes; forbear resenting in- juries so much as you think they deserve. 10. Cleanliness Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation. II. Tranquillity Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable. 12. Chastity Rarely use venery but for health or off- spring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation. ,_ 13. Humility Imitate Jesus and Socrates. My intention being to acquire the habitude of all these virtues, I judged it would be well not to distract my attention by attempting the whole at once, but to fix it on one of them at a time; and, when I should be master of that, then proceed to another, and so on till I had gone through the thirteen; and, as the previous acquisition of some might facilitate the acquisition of certain others, I arranged them with that view, as they stand above. Temperance first, as it tends to procure that coolness and clearness of head, which is so necessary where constant vigilance was to be kept up, and guard maintained against the unremitting attrac- tion of ancient habits, and the force of per- petual temptations. This being acquired and established, Silence would be more easy; and my desire being to gain knowledge at the same time that I improved in virtue, and considering that in conversation it was ob- tained rather by the use of the ears than of the tongue, and therefore wishing to break a habit I was getting into of prattling, punning, and joking, which only made me acceptable to trifling company, I gave Silence the second place. This and the next. Order, I expected would allow me more AUTOBIOGRAPHY 103 time for attending to my project and my studies. Resolution^ once become habitual, would keep me firm in my endeavors to obtain all the subsequent virtues; Frugality and Industry freeing me from my remaining debt, and producing affluence and inde- pendence, would make more easy the practice of Sincerity and Justice, etc.y etc. Con- ceiving, then, that, agreeably to the advice of Pythagoras in his Golden Verses, daily examination would be necessary, I contrived the following method for conducting that examination. I made a little book,i in which I allotted a page for each of the virtues. I ruled each Form of the Pages TEMPERANCE. EAT NOT TO DULLNESS; DRINK NOT TO ELEVATION. S. M. T. W. T. F. S. T. S. * * * 0. * * * * * * * R. * * F. * * I. * S. J. M. C. T. C. H. page with red ink, so as to have seven columns, one for each day of the week, mark- ing each column with a letter for the day. I crossed these columns with thirteen red lines, marking the beginning of each line with the first letter of one of the virtues, on which line, and in its proper column, I might 1 On I July, 1733. mark, by a little black spot, every fault I found upon examination to have been com- mitted respecting that virtue upon that day. I determined to give a week's strict attention to each of the virtues successively. Thus, in the first week, my great guard was to avoid every the least offense against Temperance, leaving the other virtues to their ordinary chance, only marking every evening the faults of the day. Thus, if in the first week I could keep my first line, marked T, clear of spots, I supposed the habit of that virtue so much strengthened, and its opposite weakened, that I might venture extending my attention to include the next, and for the following week keep both lines clear of spots. Proceeding thus to the last, I could go through a course com- plete in thirteen weeks, and four courses in a year. And like him who, having a garden to weed, does not attempt to eradicate all the bad herbs at once, which would exceed his reach and his strength, but works on one of the beds at a time, and, having accom- plished the first, proceeds to a second, so I should have, I hoped, the encouraging pleas- ure of seeing on my pages the progress I made in virtue, by clearing successively my lines of their spots, till in the end, by a number of courses, I should be happy in viewing a clean book, after a thirteen weeks* daily examination. This my little book had for its motto these lines from Addison's Cato: Here will I hold. If there 's a power above us (And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her works), He must delight in virtue; And that which He delights in must be happy. Another from Cicero: 0 vita Philosophia dux! 0 virtutum indagatrix expultrixque vitiorum! Unus dies, bene et ex prceceptis tuis actus, peccanti immortalitati est anteponendus} • Another from the Proverbs of Solomon, speaking of wisdom or virtue: Length of days is in her right hand, and in her left hand riches and honor. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. — iii, 16, 17. ^0 philosophy, guide of life! O searcher after the good and banisher of vices! One day spent well and in accordance with your commands is to be preferred to an immortality of sin. {Tusc. ^ucest., IV, 31.) 104 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN And conceiving; God to be the fountain of wisdom, I thought it right and necessary to soHcit his assistance for obtaining it; to this end I formed the following little prayer, which was prefixed to my tables of examina- tion, for daily use. 0 pozvcrful Goodness! bountiful Father 1 merciful Guide! Increase in me that wisdom which discovers my truest interest. Strengthen my resolutions to perform what that wisdom dictates. Accept my kind offices to thy other children as the only return in my •power for thy continual favors to me. 1 used also sometimes a little prayer which I took from Thomson's Poems, viz.: Father of light and life, thou Good Supreme! O teach me what is good; teach me Thyself! Save me from folh', vanity, and vice, From every low pursuit; and fill my soul With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure; Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss! i The precept of Order requiring that every part of my business sho^dd have its allotted time, one page in my little book contained the following scheme of employment for the twenty-four hours of a natural day. The Morning 5~ Rise, wash, and ad- Question. What 6 dress Powerful Good- good shall I do this 7iess! Contrive day's day? :. business, and take the resolution of the day; prosecute the present , 7 study, and breakfast. ^ 8' 9 ID 'Work. II Noon. ri2i L ^. 2' Read, or overlook my accounts, and dine. 3 4 ^Work. Evening r 5- 6 Put things in their Question. What 7 places. Supper. Mu- good have I done ^ 8 'sic or diversion, or to-day? • KJ conversation. Exam- 9 ination of the day. ID II 12 Night ^ I 2 3 4 ^ Sleep. » The Seasons, Winter, 11. 217-221. In the fourth line of the prayer "fill" should be "feed." I entered upon the execution of this plan for self-exammation, and contmued it with occasional intermissions for some time. I was surprised to find myself so much fuller of faults than I had imagined; but I had the satisfaction of seeing them dmimish. To avoid the trouble of renewing now and then my little book, which, by scraping out I the marks on the paper of old faults to make room for new ones in a new course, became full of holes, I transferred my tables and precepts to the ivory leaves of a memo- J randum book, on which the Imes were drawn " with red ink that made a durable stam, and on those lined I marked my faults with a black-lead pencil, which marks I could easily wipe out with a wet sponge. After a while I went through one course only in a year, and afterward only one in several years, till at length I omitted them entirely, being employed in voyages and business abroad, with a multiplicity of affairs that interfered; but I always carried my little book with me. My scheme of Order gave me the most trouble; and I found that, though it might be practicable where a man's business was such as to leave him the disposition of his time, that of a journeyman printer, for instance, it was not possible to be exactly observed by a master who must mix with the world and often receive people of business at their own hours. Order, too, with regard to places for things, papers, etc., I found extremely difficult to acquire. I had not been early accustomed to it, and, having an exceeding good memory, I was not so sensible of the inconvenience attending want of method. This article, therefore, cost me so much painful attention and my faults in it vexed me so much, and I made so little progress in amendment, and had such fre- quent relapses that I was almost ready to give up the attempt, and content myself with a faulty character in that respect, like the man who, in buying an ax of a smith, my neighbor, desired to have the whole of its surface as bright as the edge. The smith consented to grind it bright for him if he would turn the wheel; he turned while the smith ^pressed the broad face of the ax hard and heavily on the stone which made the turning of it very fatiguing. The man came every now and then from the wheel to see how the work went on and at length would AUTOBIOGRAPHY los take his ax as it was, without farther grind- ing. *'No," said the smith, "turn on, turn on; we shall have it bright by and by; as yet, it is only speckled." "Yes," says the man, '^but I think I like a speckled ax best.'' And I believe this may have been the case with many who, having, for want of some such means as I employed, found the diffi- culty of obtaining good and breaking bad habits in other points of vice and virtue, have given up the struggle, and concluded that "rt speckled ax was best"; for something, that pretended to be reason, was every now and then suggesting to me that such extreme nicety as I exacted of myself might be a kind of foppery in morals, which, if it were known, would make me ridiculous; that a perfect character might be attended with the inconvenience of being envied and hated; and that a benevolent man should allow a few faults in himself, to keep his friends in countenance. In truth, I found myself incorrigible with respect to Order; and now I am grown old and my memory bad, I feel very sensibly the want of it. But, on the whole, though I never arrived at the perfection I had been so ambitious of obtaining, but fell far short of it, yet I was, by the endeavor, a better and a happier man than I otherwise should have been if I had not attempted it; as those who aim at perfect writing by imitating the engraved copies, though they never reach the wished-for excellence of those copies, their hand is mended by the endeavor, and is tolerable while it continues fair and legible. It may be well my posterity should be informed that to this little artifice, with the blessing of God, their ancestor owed the constant felicity of his hfe, down to his seventy-ninth year, in which this is written. What reverses may attend the remainder is in the hand of Providence; but, if they arrive, the reflection on past happiness en- joyed ought to help his bearing them with more resignation. To Temperance he ascribes his long-continued health, and what is still left to him of a good constitution; to Industry and Frugality, the early easiness of his circumstances and acquisition of his fortune, with all that knowledge that en- abled him to be a useful citizen, and obtained for him some degree of reputation among the learned; to Sincerity and Justice, the confi- dence of his country, and the honorable employs it conferred upon him; and to the joint influence of the whole mass of virtues, even in the imperfect state he was able to acquire them, all that evenness of temper, and that cheerfulness in conversation, which makes his company still sought for and agreeable even to his younger acquaintances. I hope, therefore, that some of my descend- ants may follow the example and reap the benefit. In 1739 arrived among us from Ireland the Reverend Mr. Whitefield, who had made himself remarkable there as an itinerant preacher. He was at first permitted to preach in some of our churches; but the clergy, taking a dislike to him, soon refused him their pulpits, and he was obliged to preach in the fields. The multitudes of all sects and denominations that attended his sermons were enormous, and it was matter of speculation to me, who was one of the number, to observe the extraordinary influ- ence of his oratory on his hearers and how much they admired and respected him, not- withstanding his common abuse of them by assuring them they were naturally half beasts and half devils. It was wonderful to see the change soon made in the manners of our inhabitants. From being thoughtless or indiff'erent about religion, it seemed as if all the world were growing religious, so that one could not walk through the town in an evening without hearing psalms sung in different families of every street. And it being found inconvenient to assem- ble in the open air, subject to its inclemencies, the building of a house to meet in was no sooner proposed, and persons appointed to receive contributions, but sufficient sums were soon received to procure the ground and erect the building, which was one hun- dred feet long and seventy broad, about the size of Westminster Hall; and the work was carried on with such spirit as to be finished in a much shorter time than could have been expected. Both house and ground were vested in trustees expressly for the use of any preacher of any religious persuasion who might desire to say something to the people at Philadelphia; the design in build- ing not being to accommodate any par- io6 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN ticular sect, but the inhabitants in general; so that even if the Mufti of Constantinople were to send a missionary to preach Mo- hammedanism to us, he would find a pulpit at his service. Mr. Whitefield in leaving us, went preach- ing all the way through the colonies, to Georgia. The settlement of that province had lately been begun but, instead of being made with hardy, industrious husbandmen, accustomed to labor, the only people fit for such an enterprise, it was with families of broken shop-keepers and other insolvent debtors, many of indolent and idle habits, taken out of the jails, who, being set down in the woods, unqualified for clearing land, and unable to endure the hardships of a new settlement, perished in numbers, leaving many helpless children unprovided for. The sight of their miserable situation inspired the benevolent heart of Mr, Whitefield with the idea of building an Orphan House there, in which they might be supported and edu- cated. Returning northward, he preached up this charity and made large collections, for his eloquence had a wonderful power over the hearts and purses of his hearers of which I myself was an instance. I did not disapprove of the design, but as Georgia was then destitute of materials and workmen and it was proposed to send them from Philadelphia at a great expense, I thought it would have been better to have built the house here and brought the children to it. This I advised; but he was resolute in his first project, rejected my counsel and I therefore refused to contribute. I happened soon after to attend one of his sermons in the course of which I perceived he intended to finish with a collection, and I silently resolved he should get nothing from me. I had in my pocket a handful of copper money, three or four silver dollars, and five pistoles in gold. As he proceeded I began to soften and concluded to give the coppers. Another stroke of his oratory made me ashamed of that and determined me to give the silver; and he finished so admirably that I emptied my pocket wholly into the collector's dish, gold and all. At this sermon there was also one of our club who, being of my sentiments respecting the building in Georgia and suspecting a collection might be intended, had, by precaution, emptied his pockets before he came from home. To- wards the conclusion of the discourse, however, he felt a strong desire to give and applied to a neighbor who stood near him to borrow some money for the purpose. The applica- tion was unfortunately [made] to perhaps the only man in the company who had the firm- ness not to be affected by the preacher. His answer was: ^^ At any other time. Friend Hopkinson, I zvould lend to thee freely; hut not now, for thee seems to be out of thy right senses.'' Some of Mr. Whitefield's enemies aflPected to suppose that he would apply these col- lections to his own private emolument; but I, who was intimately acquainted with him (being employed in printing his Sermons and Journals, etc.), never had the least sus- picion of his integrity but am to this day decidedly of opinion that he was in all his conduct a perfectly honest man; and me- thinks my testimony in his favor ought to have the more weight as we had no religious connection. He used, indeed, sometimes to pray for my conversion but never had the satisfaction of believing that his prayers were heard. Ours was a mere civil friend- ship, sincere on both sides, and lasted to his death. 1 The following instance will show some- thing of the terms on which we stood. Upon one of his arrivals from England at Boston, he wrote to me that he should come soon to Philadelphia but knew not where he could lodge when there as he understood his old friend and host, Mr. Benezet, was removed to Germantown. My answer was: "You know my house; if you can make shift with its scanty accommodations, you will be most heartily welcome." He replied, that if I made that kind offer for Christ's sake, I should not miss of a reward. And I re- turned: ''Don't let me be mistaken; it was not for Christ's sake, but for your sake." One of our common acquaintance jocosely re- marked that, knowing it to be the custom of the saints when they received any favor, to shift the burden of the obligation from off their own shoulders and place it in heaven, I had contrived to fix it on earth. The last time I saw Mr. Whitefield was in London, when he consulted me about his 1 In 1770, at Newburyport, Massachusetts. AUTOHIOGRAPHY 107 Orphan House concern and his purpose of appropriating it to the establishment of a college. He had a loud and clear voice and articu- lated his words and sentences so perfectly that he might be heard and understood at a great distance, especially as his auditories, however numerous, observed the most exact silence. He preached one evening from the top of the Court-house steps, which are in the middle of Market-street and on the west side of Second-street which crosses it at right angles. Both streets were filled with his hearers to a considerable distance. Being among the hindmost in Market-street, I had the curiosity to learn how far he could be heard, by retiring backwards down the street towards the river; and I found his voice distinct till I came near Front-street when some noise in that street obscured it. Imagining then a semicircle, of which my distance should be the radius and that it were filled with auditors, to each of whom I allowed two square feet, I computed that he might well be heard by more than thirty thousand. This reconciled me to the news- paper accounts of his having preached to twenty-five thousand people in the fields and to the ancient histories of generals haranguing whole armies, of which I had sometimes doubted. By hearing him often, I came to distin- guish easily between sermons newly com- posed, and those which he had often preached in the course of his travels. His delivery of the latter was so improved by frequent repetitions that every accent, every empha- sis, every modulation of voice, was so per- fectly well turned and well placed that without being interested in the subject one could not help being pleased with the dis- course; a pleasure of much the same kind with that received from an excellent piece of music. This is an advantage itinerant preachers have overthosewho are stationary, as the latter cannot well improve their de- livery of a sermon by so many rehearsals. His writing and printing from time to time gave great advantage to his enemies; unguarded expressions, and even erroneous opinions, delivered in preaching, might have been afterwards explained or qualified by supposing others that might have accom- panied them, or they might have been denied; but litera scripta manetA Critics attacked his writings violently, and with so much appearance of reason as to diminish the number of his votaries and prevent their increase; so that I am of opinion if he had never written any thing he would have left behind him a much more numerous and im- portant sect and his reputation might in that case have been still growing, even after his death, as, there being nothing of his writ- ing on which to found a censure and give him a lower character, his proselytes would be left at liberty to feign for him as great a variety of excellences as their enthusiastic admiration might wish him to have possessed. ******* In order of time, I should have mentioned before, that having, in 1742, invented an open stove for the better warming of rooms, and at the same time saving fuel, as the fresh air admitted was warmed in entering, I made a present of the model to Mr. Robert Grace, one of my early friends, who, having an iron-furnace, found the casting of the plates for these stoves a profitable thing, as they were growing in demand. To promote that demand, I wrote and published a pamphlet, entitled Jn Account of the new- invented Pennsylvania Fireplaces; wherein their Construction and Manner of Operation is particularly explained; their Advantages above every other Method of warming Rooms demonstrated: and all Objections that have been raised against the Use of them answered and obviated, etc. This pamphlet had a good effect. Governor Thomas was so pleased with the construction of this stove, as de- scribed in it, that he offered to give me a patent for the sole vending of them for a term of years; but I declined it from a principle which has ever weighed with me on such occasions, viz.: That, as we enjoy great advantages from the inventions of others, we should be glad of an opportunity to serve others by any invention of ours; and this we should do freely and generously. An 'ironmonger in London, however, assuming a good deal of my pamphlet, and working it up into his own and making some small changes in the machine, which rather hurt its operation, got a patent for it there 1 The written word endures. io8 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN and made, as I was told, a little fortune by it. And this is not the only instance of patents taken out for my inventions by others, though not always with the same success, which I never contested, as having no desire of profiting by patents myself, and hating disputes. The use of these fireplaces in very many houses, both of this and the neighboring colonies, has been, and is, a great saving of wood to the inhabitants. Peace being concluded, and the associa- tion business therefore at an end, I turned my thoughts again to the affair of estab- lishing an academy. 1 The first step I took was to associate in the design a number of active friends, of whom the Junto furnished a good part; the next was to write and pub- lish a pamphlet, entitled Proposals relating to the Education of Youth in Pennsylvania. This I distributed among the principal inhabitants gratis; and as soon as I could suppose their minds a little prepared by the perusal of it, I set on foot a subscription for opening and supporting an academy: it was to be paid in quotas yearly for five years; by so dividing it, I judged the subscription might be larger and I believe it was so, amounting to no less, if I remember right, than five thousand pounds. In the introduction to these proposals, I stated their publication, not as an act of mine, but of some public-spirited gentlemen, avoiding as much as I could, according to my usual rule, the presenting myself to the public as the author of any scheme for their benefit. The subscribers, to carry the project into immediate execution, chose out of their number twenty-four trustees and appointed Mr. Francis, then attorney-general, and my- self to draw up constitutions for the govern- ment of the academy; which being done and signed, a house was hired, masters engaged, and the schools opened, I think, in the same year, 1749. The scholars increasing fast, the house was soon found too small and we were look- 1 The allusions in this sentence are to a preceding portion of the Autobiography here omitted. The "peace" was that which followed the French war of the middle 1740's. The "association business" was Franklin's formation of a voluntary militia for defen- sive purposes. And he had first attempted, unsuccess- fully, to establish an academy in 1743. ing out for a piece of ground properly situ- ated, with intention to build, when Provi- dence threw into our way a large house ready built which, with a few alterations, might well serve our purpose. This was the build- ing before mentioned, erected by the hearers of Mr. Whitefield, and was obtained for us in the following manner. It is to be noted that the contributions to this building being made by people of dif- ferent sects, care was taken in the nomina- tion of trustees, in whom the building and ground were to be vested, that a predomi- nancy should not be given to any sect, lest in time that predominancy might be a means of appropriating the whole to the use of such sect, contrary to the original inten- tion. It was therefore that one of each sect was appointed, viz., one Church-of-England man, one Presbyterian, one Baptist, one Moravian, etc., those, in case of vacancy by death, were to fill it by election from among the contributors. The Moravian happened not to please his colleagues and on his death they resolved to have no other of that sect. The difficulty then was, how to avoid hav- ing two of some other sect, by means of the new choice. Several persons were named, and for that reason not agreed to. At length one men- tioned me with the observation that I was merely an honest man, and of no sect at all, which prevailed with them to choose me. The enthusiasm which existed when the house was built had long since abated, and its trustees had not been able to procure fresh contributions for paying the ground- rent and discharging some other debts the building had occasioned, which embarrassed them greatly. Being now a member of both sets of trustees, that for the buildmg and that for the academy, I had a good oppor- tunity of negotiating with both, and brought them finally to an agreement, by which the trustees for the building were to cede it to those of the academy, the latter undertaking to discharge the debt, to keep forever open in the building a large hall for occasional preachers according to the original intention and maintain a free-school for the instruction of poor children. Writings were accordingly drawn and on paying the debts, the trustees of the academy were put into possession of the premises; and by dividing the great and AUTOBIOGRAPHY 109 lofty hall into stories, and different rooms above and below for the several schools and purchasing some additional ground the whole was soon made fit for our purpose, and the scholars removed into the building. The care and trouble of agreeing with the workmen, purchasing materials and superintending the work, fell upon me; and I went through it the more cheerfully, as it did not then interfere with my private business, having the year before taken a very able, industri- ous, and honest partner, Mr. David Hall, with whose character I was well acquainted as he had worked for me four years. He took off my hands all care of the printing- office, paying me punctually my share of the profits. This partnership continued eighteen years, successfully for us both. The trustees of the academy, after a while, were incorporated by a charter from the governor; their funds were increased by contributions in Britain and grants of land from the proprietaries, to which the Assem- bly has since made considerable addition; and thus was established the present Uni- versity of Philadelphia. I have been con- tinued one of its trustees from the beginning, now near forty years, and have had the very great pleasure of seeing a number of the youth who have received their education in it, distinguished by their improved abili- ties, serviceable in public stations, and ornaments to their country. When I disengaged myself, as above mentioned, from private business, I flattered myself that, by the sufficient though moder- ate fortune I had acquired, I had secured leisure during the rest of my life for philo- sophical studies and amusements. I pur- chased all Dr. Spence's apparatus, who had come from England to lecture here, and I proceeded in my electrical experiments with great alacrity; but the public, now con- sidering me as a man of leisure, laid hold of me for their purposes; every part of our civil government, and almost at the same time, imposing some duty upon me. The governor put me into the commission of the peace, the corporation of the city chose me of the common council, and soon after an alderman, and the citizens at large chose me a burgess to represent them in Assembly. This latter station was the more agreeable to me, as I was at length tired with sitting there to hear debates, in which, as clerk, I could take no part, and which were so often unentertaining that I was induced to amuse myself with making magic squares or circles, or any thing to avoid weariness; and I con- ceived my becoming a member would enlarge my power of doing good. I would not, how- ever, insinuate that my ambition was not flattered by all these promotions; it cer- tainly was; for, considering my low begin- ning, they were great things to me and they were still more pleasing as being so many spontaneous testimonies of the public good opinion, and by me entirely unsolicited. The office of justice of the peace I tried a little, by attending a few courts, and sitting on the bench to hear causes, but finding that more knowledge of the common law than I possessed was necessary to act in that station with credit, I gradually withdrew from it, excusing myself by my being obliged to attend the higher duties of a legislator in the Assembly. My election to this trust was repeated every year for ten years without my ever asking any elector for his vote or signifying, either directly or indirectly, any desire of being chosen. 1 On taking my seat in the House, my son was appointed their clerk. The year following, a treaty being to be held with the Indians at Carlisle, the gover- nor sent a message to the House, proposing that they should nominate some of their members, to be joined with some members of council, as commissioners for that purpose. The House named the speaker (Mr. Norris) and myself; and, being commissioned, we went to Carlisle, and met the Indians accordingly. As those people are extremely apt to get drunk and, when so, are very quarrelsome and disorderly, we strictly forbade the selling any liquor to them; and when they complained of this restriction, we told them that if they would continue sober during the treaty we would give them plenty of 1 Franklin wrote, in another portion of the Auto- biography: "I had read or heard of some public man who made it a rule never to ask for an office, and never to refuse one when offered to him. 'I approve,' says I, ' of his rule, and will practice it with a small addition; I shall never ask, never refuse, nor ever resign an office.' " (He was answering an acquaintance who had advised him to resign the clerkship of the Assembly in order to avoid the risk of being turned out.) no BENJAMIN FRANKLIN rum wlien business was over. They promised this and they kept their promise because they could get no hquor, and the treaty was conducted very orderly and concluded to mutual satisfaction. They then claimed and received the rum; this was in the after- noon; they were near one hundred men, women, and children, and were lodged in temporary cabins built in the form of a square, just without the town. In the even- ing, hearing a great noise among them, the commissioners walked out to see what was the matter. We found they had made a great bonfire in the middle of the square; they were all drunk, men and women, quar- reling and fighting. Their dark-colored bodies half naked, seen only by the gloomy light of the bonfire, running after and beat- ing one another with firebrands, accom- panied by their horrid yellings, formed a scene the most resembling our ideas of hell that could well be imagined; there was no appeasing the tumult, and we retired to our lodging. At midnight a number of them came thundering at our door, demandmg more rum, of which we took no notice. The next day, sensible they had mis- behaved in giving us that disturbance, they sent three of their old counselors to make their apology. The orator acknowledged the fault, but laid it upon the rum; and then endeavored to excuse the rum by say- ing: " The Great Spirit^ who made all things y made every thing for some use, and whatever use he designed any thing for, that use it should always be put to. Now, when he made rum, he said, ^ Let this be for the Indians to get drunk with,' and it must be so." And, in- deed, if it be the design of Providence to extirpate these savages in order to make room for cultivators of the earth, it seems not improbable that rum may be the ap- pointed means. It has already annihilated all the tribes who formerly inhabited the sea-coast. In 1751, Dr. Thomas Bond, a particular friend of mine, conceived the idea of estab- lishing a hospital in Philadelphia (a very beneficent design, which has been ascribed to me, but was originally his), for the recep- tion and cure of poor sick persons, whether inhabitants of the province or strangers. He was zealous and active in endeavoring to procure subscriptions for it, but the proposal being a novelty in America, and at first not well understood, he met with small success. At length he came to me with the compli- ment that he found there was no such thing as carrying a public-spirited project through without my being concerned in it. "For," says he, " I am often asked by those to whom I propose subscribing. Have you consulted Franklin upon this business.'' And what does he think of it? And when I tell them that I have not (supposing it rather out of your line), they do not subscribe, but say they will consider of it." I inquired into the nature and probable utility of his scheme, and receiving from him a very satisfactory explanation, I not only subscribed to it my- self, but engaged heartily in the design of procuring subscriptions from others. Previ- ously, however, to the solicitation, I en- deavored to prepare the minds of the people by writing on the subject in newspapers, which was my usual custom in such cases but which he had omitted. The subscriptions afterwards were more free and generous, but begmning to flag, I saw they would be insufficient without some assistance from the Assembly and therefore proposed to petition for it, which was done. The country members did not at first relish the project; they objected that it could only be serviceable to the city and therefore the citizens alone should be at the expense of it; and they doubted whether the citizens them- selves generally approved of it. My allega- tion on the contrary, that it met with such appiobation as to leave no doubt of our being able to raise two thousand pounds by voluntary donations, they considered as a most extravagant supposition, and utterly impossible. On this I formed my plan and, asking leave to bring in a bill for incorporating the contributors according to the prayer of their petition, and granting them a blank sum of money, which leave was obtained chiefly on the consideration that the House could throw the bill out if they did not like it, I drew it so as to make the important clause a conditional one, viz.: "And be it enacted, by the authority aforesaid, that when the said contributors shall have met and chosen their managers and treasurer, and shall have raised by their contributions a capital stock of value (the yearly interest of which AUTOBIOGRAPHY III is to be applied to the accommodating of the sick poor in the said hospital, free of charge for diet, attendance, advice, and medicines), and shall make the same appear to the satisfaction of the speaker of the Assembly for the time being, that then it shall and may- be lawful for the said speaker, and he is hereby required, to sign an order on the provincial treasurer for the payment of two thousand pounds, in two yearly payments, to the treasurer of the said hospital, to be applied to the founding, building, and finishing of the same." This condition carried the bill through; for the members, who had opposed the grant and now conceived they might have the credit of being charitable without the expense, agreed to its passage; and then, in soliciting subscriptions among the people, we urged the conditional promise of the law as an additional motive to give, since every man's donation would be doubled; thus the clause worked both ways. The subscrip- tions accordingly soon exceeded the requisite sum, and we claimed and received the public gift, which enabled us to carry the design into execution. A convenient and hand- some building was soon erected; the insti- tution has by constant experience been found useful, and flourishes to this day; and I do not remember any of my political maneuvers, the success of which gave me at the time more pleasure, or wherein, after thinking of it I more easily excused myself for having made some use of cunning. It was about this time that another pro- jector, the Rev. Gilbert Tennent, came to me with a request that I would assist him in procuring a subscription for erecting a new meeting-house. It was to be for the use of a congregation he had gathered among the Presbyterians, who were origmally disciples of Mr. Whitefield. Unwilling to make my- self disagreeable to my fellow-citizens by too frequently soliciting their contributions, I absolutely refused. He then desired I would furnish him with a list of the names of persons I knew by experience to be generous and public-spirited. I thought it would be unbecoming in me, after their kind com- pliance with my solicitations, to mark them out to be worried by other beggars, and therefore refused also to give such a list. He then desired I would at least give him my advice. "That I will readily do," said I; "and, in the first place, I advise you to apply to all those whom you know will give something; next to those whom you are uncertain whether they will give any thing or not, and show them the list of those who have given; and, lastly, do not neglect those who you are sure will give nothing, for in some of them you may be mistaken." He laughed and thanked me, and said he would take my advice. He did so, for he asked of everybody, and he obtained a much larger sum than he expected, with which he erected the capacious and very elegant meeting-house that stands in Arch-street. Our city, though laid out with a beautiful regularity, the streets large, straight, and crossing each other at right angles, had the disgrace of suffering those streets to remain long unpaved, and in wet weather the wheels of heavy carriages ploughed them into a quagmire so that it was difl&cult to cross them; and in dry weather the dust was offensive. I had lived near what was called the Jersey Market and saw with pain the inhabitants wading in mud while purchasing their provisions. A strip of ground down the middle of that market was at length paved with brick, so that, being once in the market, they had firm footing, but were often over shoes in dirt to get there. By talking and writing on the subject, I was at length instrumental in getting the street paved with stone between the market and the bricked foot-pavement, that was on each side next the houses. This, for some time gave an easy access to the market dry- shod, but, the rest of the street not being paved, whenever a carriage came out of the mud upon this pavement it shook off and left its dirt upon it and it was soon covered with mire, which was not removed, the city as yet having no scavengers. After some inquiry, I found a poor, in- dustrious man who was willing to undertake keeping the pavement clean by sweeping it twice a week, carrying off the dirt from before all the neighbors' doors, for the sum of sixpence per month to be paid by each house. I then wrote and printed a paper setting forth the advantages to the neighbor- hood that might be obtained by this small expense; the greater ease in keeping our houses clean, so much dirt not being brought 112 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN in by people's feet; the benefit to the shops by more custom, etc., etc., as buyers could more easily get at them; and by not having, in windy weather, the dust blown in upon their goods, etc., etc. I sent one of these papers to each house and in a day or two went round to see who would subscribe an agreement to pay these sixpences. It was unanimously signed, and for a time well executed. All the inhabitants of the city were delighted with the cleanhness of the pavement that surrounded the market, it being a convenience to all, and this raised a general desire to have all the streets paved, and made the people more willing to submit to a tax for that purpose. After some time I drew a bill for paving the city, and brought it into the Assembly. It was just before I went to England, in 1757, and did not pass till I was gone, and then with an alteration in the mode of assess- ment, which I thought not for the better, but with an additional provision for lighting as well as paving the streets, which was a great improvement. It was by a private person, the late Mr. John Clifton, his giving a sample of the utility of lamps, by placing one at his door, that the people were first impressed with the idea of enlighting all the city. The honor of this public benefit has also been ascribed to me, but it belongs truly to that gentleman. I did but follow his example, and have only some merit to claim respecting the form of our lamps, as differing from the globe lamps we were at first supplied with from London. Those we found inconvenient in these respects: they admitted no air below; the smoke, there- fore, did not readily go out above, but circulated in the globe, lodged on its inside, and soon obstructed the light they were intended to afford; giving, besides, the daily trouble of wiping them clean; and an acci- dental stroke on one of them would demolish it, and render it totally useless. I therefore suggested the composing them of four flat panes, with a long funnel above to draw up the smoke, and crevices admitting air below, to facilitate the ascent of the smoke; by this means they were kept clean, and did not grow dark in a few hours, as the London lamps do, but continued bright till morning, and an accidental stroke would generally break but a single pane, easily repaired. In 1746, being at Boston I met there with a Dr. Spence who was lately arrived from Scotland, and showed me some electric experiments. They were imperfectly per- formed as he was not very expert but, being on a subject quite new to me, they equally surprised and pleased me. Soon after my return to Philadelphia, our library company received from Mr. P. CoUinson, Fellow of the Royal Society of London, a present of a glass tube with some account of the use of it in making such experiments. I eagerly seized the opportunity of repeating what I had seen at Boston; and, by much practice, acquired great readiness in performing those, also, which we had an account of from England, adding a number of new ones. I say much practice, for my house was con- tinually full, for some time, with people who came to see these new wonders. To divide a little this incumbrance among my friends, I caused a number of similar tubes to be blown at our glass-house, with which they furnished themselves, so that we had at length several performers. Among these, the principal was Mr. Kinnersley, an ingenious neighbor, who, being out of busi- ness, I encouraged to undertake showing the experiments for money, and drew up for him two lectures, in which the experiments were ranged in such order, and accompanied with such explanations in such method, as that the foregoing should assist in comprehending the following. He procured an elegant ap- paratus for the purpose, in which all the little machines that I had roughly made for my- self were nicely formed by instrument- makers. His lectures were well attended and gave great satisfaction, and after some time he went through the colonies exhibiting them in every capital town and picked up some money. In the West India Islands, indeed, it was with difficulty the experiments could be made, from the general moisture of the air. Obliged as we were to Mr. Collinson for his present of the tube, etc.y I thought it right he should be informed of our success in using it, and wrote him several letters containing accounts of our experiments. He got them read in the Royal Society where they were not at first thought worth so much notice as to be printed in their Transactions. One paper, which I wrote for AUTOBIOGRAPHY "3 Mr. Kinnersley, on the sameness of lightning with electricity, I sent to Dr. Mitchel, an acquaintance of mine and one of the mem- bers also of that society, who wrote me word that it had been read, but was laughed at by the connoisseurs. The papers, however, being shown to Dr. Fothergill, he thought they were of too much value to be stifled, and advised the printing of them. Mr. Collinson then gave them to Cave for publi- cation in his Gentleman's Magazine; but he chose to print them separately in a pamphlet and Dr. Fothergill wrote the preface. Cave, it seems, judged rightly for his profit, for by the additions that arrived afterward, they swelled to a quarto volume which has had five editions, and cost him nothing for copy- money.i It was, however, some time before those papers were much taken notice of in England. A copy of them happening to fall into the hands of the Count de BufFon, a philosopher deservedly of great reputation in France, and, indeed, all over Europe, he prevailed with M. Dalibard to translate them into French, and they were printed at Paris. The publication off'ended the Abbe Nollet, preceptor in Natural Philosophy to the royal family, and an able experimenter, who had formed and published a theory of electricity, which then had the general vogue. He could not at first believe that such a work came from America, and said it must have been fabricated by his enemies at Paris, to decry his system. Afterwards, having been assured that there really existed such a person as Franklin at Phila- delphia, which he had doubted, he wrote and published a volume of Letters, chiefly addressed to me, defending his theory, and denying the verity of my experiments and of the positions deduced from them. I once purposed answering the abbe, and actually began the answer, but, on considera- tion that my writings contained a description of experiments which any one might repeat and verify, and if not to be verified, could not be defended; or of observations oflfered as conjectures and not delivered dogmati- cally, therefore not laying me under any obligation to defend them; and reflecting that a dispute between two persons, writing ^I.e.y money paid to the writer. in different languages, might be lengthened greatly by mistranslations and thence mis- conceptions of one another's meaning, much of one of the abbe's letters being founded on an error in the translation, I concluded to let my papers shift for themselves, be- lieving it was better to spend what time I could spare from public business in making new experiments, than in disputing about those already made. I therefore never answered M. Nollet, and the event gave me no cause to repent my silence; for my friend M. le Roy, of the Royal Academy of Sciences, took up my cause and refuted him; my book was translated into the Italian, German, and Latin languages, and the doctrine it contained was by degrees universally adopted by the philosophers of Europe in preference to that of the abbe; so that he lived to see himself the last of his sect, except Monsieur B , of Paris, his eleve^ and immediate disciple. What gave my book the more sudden and general celebrity, was the success of one of its proposed experiments, made by Messrs. Dalibard and de Lor at Marly, for drawing lightning from the clouds. This engaged the public attention everywhere. M. de Lor, who had an apparatus for experimental philosophy, and lectured in that branch of science, undertook to repeat what he called the Philadelphia Experiments; and, after they were performed before the king and court, all the curious of Paris flocked to see them. I will not swell this narrative with an account of that capital experiment, nor of the infinite pleasure I received in the success of a similar one I made soon after with a kite at Philadelphia, as both are to be found in the histories of electricity. Dr. Wright, an English physician, when at Paris, wrote to a friend, who was of the Royal Society, an account of the high esteem my experiments were in among the learned abroad, and of their wonder that my writ- ings had been so little noticed in England. The Society, on this, resumed the con- sideration of the letters that had been read to them, and the celebrated Dr. Watson drew up a summary account of them and of all I had afterwards sent to England on the subject, which he accompanied with some Pupil. 114 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN praise of the writer. This summary was then printed in their Iransactions; and some members of the Society in London, particuhirly the very ingenious Mr, Canton, having verified the experiment of procuring hghtning from the clouds by a pointed rod, and acquainting them with the success, they soon made me more than amends for the slight with which they had before treated me. Without my having made any applica- tion for that honor, they chose me a member, and voted that I should be excused the customary payments, which would have amounted to twenty-five guineas; and ever since have given me their Transactions gratis. They also presented me with the gold medal of Sir Godfrey Copley for the year 1753, the delivery of which was ac- companied by a very handsome speech of the president. Lord Macclesfield, wherein I was highly honored. THE WAY TO WEALTH 1 Courteous Reader, I have heard that nothing gives an Author so great Pleasure as to find his Works respect- fully quoted by other learned Authors. This Pleasure I have seldom enjoyed; for though I have been, if I may say it without Vanity, an eminent Author of Almanacs annually now a full Quarter of a Century, my Brother Authors in the same Way, for 1 Franklin says in the Autobiography. "In 1732 I first published my Almanac, under the name of Rich- ard Saundjrs; it was continued by me about 25 years, commonly called Poor Richard's Almanac. I endeav- ored to make it both entertaining and useful; and it accordingly came to be in such demand that I reaped considerable profit from it, vending annually near ten thousand. And observing that it was generally read, scarce any neighborhood in the province being without it, I considered it as a proper vehicle for conveying instruction among the common people, who bought scarcely any other books; I therefore filled all the little spaces that occurred between the remarkable days in the calendar with proverbial sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and frugality as the means of procuring wealth, and thereby securing virtue; it being more difficult for a man in want to act always honestly, as, to use here one of those proverbs, // is hard for an empty sack to stand upright. "These proverbs, which contained the wisdom of many ages and nations, I assembled and formed into a connected discourse prefixed to the Almanac of I757> as the harangue of a wise old man to the people attend- ing an auction." what Reason I know not, have ever been very sparing in their Applauses, and no other Author has taken the least Notice of me, so that did not my Writings produce me some solid Pudding, the great Deficiency of Praise would have quite discouraged me. I concluded at length, that the People were the best Judges of my merit; for they buy my Works; and besides, in my Rambles, where I am not personally known, I have frequently heard one or other of my Adages repeated, with, as Poor Richard says, at the End on 't; this gave me some Satisfaction, as it showed not only that my Instructions were regarded, but discovered likewise some Respect for my Authority; and I own, that to encourage the Practice of remembering and repeating those wise Sentences, I have sometimes quoted myself with great Gravity, d Judge, then how much I must have been gratified by an Incident I am going to relate to you. I stopped my Horse lately where a great Number of People were collected at a Vendue of Merchant Goods. The Hour of Sale not being come, they were conversing on the Badness of the Times and one of the Company called to a plain clean old Man, with white Locks, "Pray, Father Abraham, what think you of the Times .^ Won't these heavy Taxes quite ruin the Country.^ How shall we be ever able to pay them.f' What would you advise us to.?" Father Abraham stood up, and replied, "If you'd have my Advice, I'll give it you in short, for A Word to the Wise is enough, and many Words wont fill a Bushel, as Poor Richard says." They joined in desiring him to speak his Mind, and gathering round him he proceeded as follows : "Friends," says he, "and Neighbors, the Taxes are indeed very heavy, and if those laid on by the Government were the only Ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we have many others, and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our Idleness, 1 three times as much by our Pride, and four times as much by our Folly; and from these Taxes the Commissioners cannot ease or deliver us by allowing an Abatement. How- ever, let us barken to good Advice, and something may be done for us; God helps \ them that help themselves, as Poor Richard says, in his Almanac of 1733. THE WAY TO WEALTH 115 It would be thought a hard Government that should tax its People one-tenth l^art of their Time, to he employed in its Service. But Idleness taxes many of us much more, if we reckon all that is spent in absolute Sloth, or doing of nothing, with that which is spent in idle Employments or Amusements, that amount to nothing. Sloth, by bringing on Diseases, absolutely shortens Life. Sloth, like Rust, consumes faster than Labor wears; while the used Key is always bright, as Poor Richard says. But dost thou love Life, then do not squander Time; for that^s the stuff Life is made of, as Poor Richard says. How much more than is necessary do we spend in sleep, forgetting that The Sleeping Fox catches no Poultry, and that There will be sleeping enough in the Grave, as Poor Richard says. // Time be of all Things the most precious, wasting Time must be, as Poor Richard says, the greatest Prodigality; since, as he else- where tells us. Lost Time is never found again; and what we call Time enough, always proves little enough: Let us then up and be doing, and doing to the Purpose; so by Diligence shall we do more with less Perplexity. Sloth makes all Things difficult, but Industry all easy, as Poor Richard says; and He that riseth late must trot all Day, and shall scarce overtake his Business at Night; while Lazi- ness travels so slowly, that Poverty soon over- takes him, as we read in Poor Richard, who adds. Drive thy Business, let not that drive thee; and Early to Bed, and early to rise, makes a Man healthy, wealthy, and wise. So what signifies wishing and hoping for better Times? We may make these Times better, if we bestir ourselves. Industry need not wish, as Poor Richard says, and he that lives upon Hope will die fasting. There are no Gains without Pains; then Help Hands, for I have no Lands, or if I have, they are smartly taxed. And, as Poor Richard like- wise observes, He that hath a Trade hath an Estate; and he that hath a Calling, hath an Office of Profit and Honor; but then the Trade must be worked at, and the Calling well followed, or neither the Estate nor the Office will enable us to pay our Taxes. If we are industrious, we shall never starve; for, as Poor Richard says. At the working Mans House Hunger looks in, but dares not enter. Nor will the Bailiff or the Constable enter, for Industry pays Debts, while Despair increaseth them, says Poor Richard. What though you have found no Treasure, nor has any rich Relation left you a Legacy, Diligence is the Mother of Goodluck as Poor Richard says and God gives all Things to Industry. Then plough deep, while Sluggards sleep, and you shall have Corn to sell and to keep, says Poor Dick. Work while it is called To-day, for you know not how much you may be hindered To-morrow, which makes Poor Richard say. One to-day is worth two To-morrows, and farther. Have you some- what to do To-morrow, do it To-day. If you were a Servant, would you not be ashamed that a good Master should catch you idle? Are you then your own Master, be ashamed to catch yourself idle, as Poor Dick says. When there is so much to be done for your- self, your Family, your Country, and your gracious King, be up by Peep of Day; Let not the Su7i look down and say. Inglorious here he lies. Handle your tools without Mittens; remember that The Cat in Gloves catches no Mice, as Poor Richard says. 'Tis true there is much to be done, and perhaps you are weak-handed, but stick to it steadily; and you will see great Effects, for Constant Dropping wears away Stones, and by Dili- gence and Patience the Mouse ate in two the Cable; and Little Strokes fell great Oaks, as Poor Richard says in his Almanac, the Year I cannot just now remember. Methinks I hear some of you say. Must a Man afford himself no Leisure? I will tell thee, my friend, what Poor Richard says, Employ thy Time well, if thou meanest to gain Leisure; and, since thou art not sure of a Minute, throw not away an Hour. Leisure is Time for doing something useful; this Leisure the diligent Man will obtain, but the lazy Man never; so that, as Poor Richard says, A Life of Leisure and a Life of Laziness are two Things. Do you imagine that Sloth will afford you more Comfort than Labor? No, for as Poor Richard says, Trouble springs from Idleness, and grievous Toil from needless Ease. Many without Labor would live by their Wits only, but they break for want of Stock. Whereas Industry gives Comfort, and Plenty, and Respect: Fly Pleasures, and they II follow you. The diligent Spinner has a large Shift; and now I have a Sheep and a Cow, everybody bids me good Morrow; all which is well said hy Poor Richard. ii6 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN But with our Industry, we must likewise be steady, settled, and careful, and oversee our own Affairs zvith our ozvn Eyes, and not trust too much to others; for, as Poor Richard says: I never saw an oft-removed Tree, Nor yet an oft-removed Family, That throve so well as those that settled be. And again. Three Removes is as bad as a Fire; and again, Keep thy Shop, and thy Shop will keep thee; and again, // you would have your Business done, go; if not, send. And again, He that by the Plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive. And again, The Eye of a Master will do more Work than both his Hands; and again. Want of Care does us more Da7nage than Want of Knowledge; and again. Not to oversee Work- men, is to leave them your Purse open. Trust- ing too much to others' Care is the Ruin of many; for, as the Almanac says. In the Affairs of this World, Men are saved, not by Faith, but by the Want of it; but a Man's own Care is profitable; for, saith Poor Dick, Learning is to the Studious, and Riches to the Careful, as well as Power to the Bold, and Heaven to the Virtuous. And farther, // you would have a faithful Servant, and one that you like, serve yourself. And again, he ad- viseth to Circumspection and Care, even in the smallest Matters, because sometimes A little Neglect may breed great Mischief; adding, for want of a Nail the Shoe was lost; for want of a Shoe the Horse was lost; and for want of a Horse the Rider was lost, being overtaken and slain by the Enemy; all for want of Care about a Horse-shoe Nail. So much for Industry, my Friends, and Attention to one's own Business; but to these we must add Frugality, if we would make our Industry more certainly successful. A Man may, if he knows not how to save as he gets, keep his Nose all his Life to the Grind- stone, and die not worth a Groat at last. A fat Kitchen makes a lean Will, as Poor Richard says; and Many Estates are spent in the Getting, Since Women for Tea forsook Spinning and Knit- tings . . And Men for Punch forsook Hewing and Splitting. // you would be wealthy, says he, in another Almanac, think of Saving as well as of Getting: The Indies have not made Spain rich, because her Outgoes are greater than her Incomes. Away then with your expensive Follies, and you will not then have so much Cause to complain of hard Times, heavy Taxes, and chargeable Families; for, as Poor Dick says, Women and Wine, Game and Deceit, Make the Wealth small and the Wants great. And farther. What maintains one Vice, would bring up two Children. You may think per- haps, that a little Tea, or a little Punch now and then, Diet a little more costly. Clothes a little finer, and a little Entertainment now and then, can be no great Matter; but remember what Poor Richard says: Many a Little makes a Mickle; and farther, Beware of little Expenses; A small Leak will sink a great Ship; and again, Who Dainties love, shall Beggars prove; and moreover, Fools make Feasts, and wise Men eat them. Here you are all got together at this Ven- due of Fineries and Knicknacks. You call them Goods; but if you do not take Care, they will prove Evils to some of you. You expect they will be sold cheap, and perhaps they may for less than they cost; but if you have no Occasion for them, they must be dear to you. Remember what Poor Richard says: Buy what thou hast no Need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy Necessaries. And again. At a great Pennyworth pause a while. He means, that perhaps the Cheapness is appar- ent only, and not Real; or the bargain, by straitening thee in thy Business, may do thee more Harm than Good. For in another Place he says. Many have been ruined by buy- ing good Pennyworths. Again, Poor Richard says, 'Tis foolish to lay out Money in a Pur- chase of Repentance; and yet this Folly is practiced every Day at Vendues, for want of minding the Almanac. Wise Men, as Poor Dick says, learn by others' Harms, Fools scarcely by their own; hut felix quern faciunt aliena pericula cautum.^ Many a one, for the Sake of Finery on the Back, have gone with a hungry Belly, and half-starved their Families. Silks and satins, Scarlet and Vel- 1 Happy the man whom the perils of others make cautious. THE WAY TO WEALTH 117 vets, as Poor Richard says, put out the Kitchen Fire. These are not the Necessaries of Life; they can scarcely be called the Conveniences; and yet only because they look pretty, how many want to have them! The artificial Wants of Mankind thus become more numerous than the Natural; and, as Poor Dick says, for one poor Person, there are an hundred indigent. By these, and other extravagancies, the Gen- teel are reduced to poverty, and forced to borrow of those whom they formerly des- pised, but who through Industry and Fru- gality have maintained their Standing; in which Case it appears plainly, that A Plough- man on his Legs is higher than a Gentleman on his Knees, as Poor Richard says. Perhaps they have had a small Estate left them, which they knew not the Getting of; they think, 'tis Day, and will never be Night; that a little to be spent out of so much, js not worth minding; a Child and a Fool, as Poor Richard says, imagine Twenty shillings and Twenty Years can never be spent but, always taking out of the Meal-tub, and never putting in, soon comes to the Bottom; as Poor Dick says, When the fVelVs dry, they know the Worth of Water. But this they might have known be- fore if they had taken his Advice; // you would know the Value of Money, go and try to borrow some; for, he that goes a borrowing goes a sorrowing; and indeed so does he that lends to such People, when he goes to get it in again. Poor Dick farther advises, and says, Fond Pride of Dress is sure a very Curse; E'er Fancy you consult, consult your Purse. And again, Pride is as loud a Beggar as Want, and a great deal more saucy. When you have bought one fine Thing, you must buy ten more, that your Appearance may be all of a Piece; but Poor Dick says,' 7*1/ easier to sup- press the first Desire, than to satisfy all that fol- low it. And 'tis as truly Folly for the Poor to ape the Rich, as for the Frog to swell, in order to equal the Ox. Great Estates may venture more, But little Boats should keep near Shore. 'Tis, however, a Folly soon punished; for Pride that dines on Vanity, sups on Contempt, as Poor Richard says. And in another place. Pride breakfasted with Plenty, dined with Pov- erty, and supped zvith Infamy. And after all, of what Use is this Pride of Appearance, for which so much is risked, so much is suffered? It cannot promote Health, or ease Pain; it makes no Increase of Merit in the Person, it creates Envy, it hastens Misfortune. What is a Butterfly? At best He's but a Caterpillar dressed. The gaudy Fop's his Picture just, as Poor Richard say.^. But what Madness must it be to run in Debt for these Superfluities! We are offered by the Terms of this Vendue, Six Months' Credit; and that perhaps has induced some of us to attend it, because we cannot spare the ready Money, and hope now to be fine with- out it. But, ah, think what you do when you run in Debt; you give to another Power over your Liberty. If you cannot pay at the Time you will be ashamed to see your Creditor; you will be in Fear when you speak to him; you will make poor pitiful sneaking Excuses, and by Degrees come to lose your Veracity, and sink into base downright lying; for, as Poor Richard says. The second Vice is Lying, the first is running in Debt. And again, to the same Purpose, Lying rides upon Debt's Back. Whereas a free-born Englishman ought not to be ashamed or afraid to see or speak to any Man living. But Poverty often deprives a Man of all Spirit and Virtue: 'Tis hard for an empty Bag to stand upright, as Poor Richard truly says. What would you think of that Prince, or that Government, who should issue an Edict forbidding you to dress like a Gentleman or a Gentlewoman, on Pain of Imprisonment or Servitude? Would you not say, that you were free, have a Right to dress as you please, and that such an Edict would be a Breach of your Privileges, and such a Government tyrannical? And yet you are about to put yourself under that tyranny, when you run in Debt for such Dress! Your Creditor has authority, at his Pleasure to deprive you of your Liberty, by confining you in Jail for Life, or to sell you for a Servant, if you should should not be able to pay him! When you have got your Bargain, you may, perhaps, think little of Payment; but Creditors, Poor Richard tells us, have better Memories than Debtors; and in another Place says. Creditors are a superstitious Sect, great Observers of set IlS MKNJAMIN FRANKLIN Days and Timrs. I In- I);i\- coincs rdiind lu*- forc vt)U arc aware, aiul tlic IXiiiand is made before you are prepared to satisfy it. Or if you bear your Debt in Mind, the I erm vvhuh at Hrst seemed so long, will, as it lessens, ap- pear extremely short. Time will seem to have added \\ ings to his Heels as well as Shoulders. Those have a short Le?ity saith Poor Richardy -who ozve Money to be paid at Easter. Then since, as he says, The Borrozver IS a Slave to the Lender, and the Debtor to the Creditor, disdain the Chain, preserve your Freedom; and maintain your Independency: Be Industrious and free; hefrugal and free. At present, perhaps, you may think yourself in thrivingCircumstances, and that you can bear a little Extravagance without Injury; but, For Age and Want, save while you may; No Morning Sun lasts a whole Day, as Poor Richard says. Ciain may be tem- porary and uncertain, but ever while you live, Expense is constant and certain; and tis easier to build tzvo Chimneys, than to keep one in Fuel, as Poor Richard says. So, Rather go to bed supperless than rise in Debt. Get what you can, and what you get hold; 'Tis the Stone that will turn all your lead into Gold, as Poor Richard says. And when you have got the Philosopher's Stone, sure you will no longer complain of bad Times, or the Dif- ficulty of paying Taxes. I his Doctrine, my Friends, is Reason and Wisdom; but after all, do not depend too much upon your own Industry, and Frugality, and Prudence, though excellent Things, for they may all be blasted without the Blessing of Heaven; and therefore, ask that Blessing humbly, and be not uncharitable to those that at present seem to want it, but comfort and help them. Remember, Job suffered, and was afterwards prosperous. And now to conclude, Experience keeps a dear School, but Fools will learn in no other, and scarce in that; for it is true, we may give Advice, but we cannot give Conduct, as Poor Richard says. However, remember this, They that wont be counseled, cant be helped, as Poor Richard says: and farther, that if you will 7iot hear Reason, she'll surely rap your Knuckles.'* Thus the old Gentleman ended his Ha- rangue. The People heard it, and approved the Doctrine, and immediately practiced the contrary, just as if it had been a common Sermon; for the Vendue opened, and they be- gan to buy extravagantly, notwithstanding his Cautions and their own Fear of Taxes. I found the good Man had thoroughly studied my Almanacs, and digested all I had dropped on these topics during the course of five and twenty years. The frequent Mention he made of me must have tired any one else, but my Vanity was wonderfully delighted with it, though I was conscious that not a tenth Part of the Wisdom was my own, which he ascribed to me, but rather the Gleanings I had made of the Sense of all Ages and Na- tions. However, I resolved to be the better for the Echo of it; and though I had at first determined to buy Stuff for a new Coat, I went away resolved to wear my old One a little longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same thy Profit will be as great as mine. I am, as ever, thine to serve thee, Richard Saunders. JOHN DICKINSON (1732-1808) Dickinson was born in Talbot County, Maryland, on 13 November, 1732. When he was eight years old his father removed to Delaware. At eighteen he began study of the law in Phila- delphia. Several years later (1753) he was entered at the Middle Temple, London, where he com- pleted his legal training. He began the practice of the law at Philadelphia in 1757. He was elected a member of the Delaware Assembly in 1760, and of the Pennsylvania Assembly in 1762, remaining a member until 1765. He was again a member of the latter Assembly in the years 1770-1776, and a member of the Continental Congress from 1774 ^o 1776. He also attained the rank of brigadier-general in the Delaware militia. In 1776 he opposed the Declaration of Independence and refused to sign that document, as a consequence of which his political influence declined in later years. Nevertheless, he served as Governor of Delaware in 1781 and 1782, and as President (i.e., Governor) of Pennsyl- vania from 1782 to 1785. He died in Wilmington, Delaware, on 14 February, 1808. Dickinson was the author of a number of able state-papers and political essays (his Writings were edited by P. L. Ford, Philadelphia, 1895). Only one of his works is still generally known, but this — his series of twelve Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania — deserves its modest place in American lit- erature. The letters were written in 1767 and 1768 and were published from time to time in a news- paper of Philadelphia. They at once made a deep impression and were widely republished in other colonial newspapers. Dickinson was concerned primarily with the question of taxation, but he wrote as a sober and enlightened statesman, and gave his letters a value beyond their immediate occasion. This they have by virtue not merely of their admirable style, but also of their temperate common sense and their writer's large grasp of the general principles and problems of sovereignty. And though the "Farmer" did not himself aim at the independence of the colonies, his letters were a powerful popular influence making in that direction, inspired as they were by a jealous love of constitutional liberty. M. C. Tyler has acclaimed them as "the most brilliant event in the literary history of the Revolution," and has gone on to explain: "Here was no reckless declaimer, no frantic political adventurer, precipi- tating public confusion because he had nothing to lose by public confusion, and eager to run American society upon the breakers in the hope of gathering spoils from the common wreck. On the contrary, here was a man of powerful and cultivated intellect, with all his interest and all his tastes on the side of order, conservatism, and peace, if only with these could be had political safety and honor." {Lit- erary History of the American Revolution, lydS-iyS^.) LETTERS FROM A FARMER IN PENNSYLVANIA, TO THE IN- HABITANTS OF THE BRITISH COLONIES! LETTER I My dear Countrymen: I am a Farmer, settled, after a variety of fortunes, near the banks of the river Del- aware, in the province of Pennsylvania. I received a liberal education, and have been engaged in the busy scenes of life; but am now convinced that a man may be as happy without bustle as with it. My farm is small; 1 The Letters are reprinted from a copy of the first collective edition, published in Philadelphia, 1768. The footnotes are Dickinson's, save for the matter in square brackets. my servants few, and good; I have a little money at interest; I wish for no more; my employment in my own affairs is easy; and with a contented, grateful mind, undisturbed by worldly hopes or fears, relating to my- self, I am completing the number of days al- lotted to me by divine goodness. Being generally master of my time, I spend a good deal of it in a library, which I think the most valuable part of my small es- tate; and being acquainted with two or three gentlemen of abilities and learning, who hon- or me with their friendship, I have acquired, I believe, a greater knowledge in history, and the laws and constitution of my country, than is generally attained by men of my class, many of them not being so fortunate as I have been in the opportunities of getting information. 119 I20 JOHN DICKINSON From niv iiif-iiuy I was taught to love humanity and liht-rly. liKiiiiry and experi- ence have since confirmed my reverence for the lessons then ^iven me, by convincing me more fully of their truth and excellence. Benevolence toward mankind excites wishes for their welfare, and such wishes endear the means of fulfilling them. These can be found in liberty only, and therefore her sacred cause ought to be espoused by every man, on every occasion, to the utmost of his power. As a charitable but poor person does not withhold his mile, because he cannot relieve all the distresses of the miserable, so should not any honest man suppress his sentiments concerning freedom, however small their influence is likely to be. Perhaps he "may touch some wheel "* that will have an effect greater than he could reasonably expect. These being my sentiments, I am encour- aged to offer to you, my countrymen, my thoughts on some late transactions that ap- pear to me to be of the utmost importance to you. Conscious of my own defects, I have waited some time, in expectation of seeing the subject treated by persons much better qualified for the task; but being therein dis- appointed, and apprehensive that longer de- lays will be injurious, I venture at length to request the attention of the public, praying that these lines may be read with the same zeal for the happiness of British America with which they were wrote. With a good deal of surprise I have ob- served that little notice has been taken of an act of parliament, as injurious in its principle to the liberties of these colonies as the Stamp Act was: I mean the act for suspending the legislation of Nezv York. I he assembly of that government com- plied with a former act of parliament, re- quiring certain provisions to be made for the troops in America, in every particular, I think, except the articles of salt, pepper, and vinegar. In my opinion they acted impru- dently, considering all circumstances, in not complying so far as would have given sat- isfaction, as several colonies did: But my dislike of their conduct in that instance has not blinded me so much that I cannot plainly perceive that they have been punished in a manner pernicious to American freedom, and justly alarming to all the colonies. J Pope. [Essay on Man, I, 59.) If the British parliament has a legal au- thority to issue an order that we shall fur- nish a single article for the troops here, and to compel obedience to that order, they have the same right to issue an order for us to supply those troops with arms, clothes, and every necessary; and to compel obedi- ence to that order also; in short, to lay any burthens they please upon us. What is this but taxing us at a certain sum, and leaving to us only the manner of raising it.^* How is this mode more tolerable than the Stamp Act? Would that act have appeared more pleasing to Americans if, being ordered there- by to raise the sum total of the taxes, the mighty privilege had been left to them of saying how much should be paid for an in- strument of writing on paper, and how much for another on parchment.'' An act of parliament, commanding us to do a certain thing, if it has any validity, is a tax upon us for the expense that accrues in complying with it; and for this reason, I be- lieve, every colony on the continent that chose to give a mark of their respect for Great Britain, in complying with the act relating to the troops, cautiously avoided the men- tion of that act, lest their conduct should be attributed to its supposed obligation. The matter being thus stated, the as- sembly of New York either had, or had not, a right to refuse submission to that act. If they had, and I imagine no American will say they had not, then the parliament had no right to compel them to execute it. If they had not this right, they had no right to punish them for not executing it; and there- fore no right to suspend their legislation, which is a punishment. In fact, if the people of New York cannot be legally taxed but by their own representatives, they cannot be legally deprived of the privilege of legislation, only for insisting on that exclusive privilege of taxation. If they may be legally deprived in such a case of the privilege of legislation, why may they not, with equal reason, be de- prived of every other privilege ? Or why may not every colony be treated in the same man- ner, when any of them shall dare to deny their assent to any impositions that shall be directed .'' Or what signifies the repeal of the Stamp Act, if these colonies are to lose their other privileges, by not tamely surrendering that of taxation? LETTERS FROM A FARMER IN PENNSYLVANIA 121 There is one consideration arising from this suspension which is not generally attended to, but shows its importance very clearly. It was not necessary that this suspension should be caused by an act of parliament. The crown might have restrained the governor of New York even from calling the assembly to- gether, by its prerogative in the royal gov- ernments. This step, I suppose, would have been taken if the conduct of the assembly of Nezu York had been regarded as an act of disobedience to the crown alone; but it is re- garded as an act of ''disobedience to the au- thority of the British legislature, "i This gives the suspension a consequence vastly more affecting. It is a parliamentary assertion of t\\t. supreme authority of the Brit- ish legislature over these colonies, in the point of taxation, and is intended to compel New York into a submission to that author- ity. It seems therefore to me as much a vio- lation of the liberties of the people of that province, and consequently of all these col- onies, as if the parliament had sent a number of regiments to be quartered upon them till they should comply. For it is evident that the suspension is meant as a compulsion; and the method of compelling is totally indifferent. It is indeed probable that the sight of red coats, and the hearing of drums, would have been most alarming; because people are generally more influenced by their eyes and ears than by their reason. But whoever seriously considers the matter must perceive that a dreadful stroke is aimed at the liberty of these colonies. I say, of these colonies; for the cause of one is the cause of all. If the parliament may lawfully deprive New York of any of her rights, it may deprive any, or all the other colonies of their rights; and nothing can pos- sibly so much encourage such attempts as a mutual inattention to the interests of each other. To divide, and thus to destroy, is the first political maxim in attacking those who are powerful by their union. He certainly is not a wise man who folds his arms, and re- poses himself at home, viewing with uncon- cern the flames that have invaded his neigh- bor's house, without using any endeavors to extinguish them. When Mr. Hampden s ship-money cause, for Three Shillings and Four-pence, was tried, all the people of Eng- land, with anxious expectation, interested themselves in the important decision; and when the slightest point, touching the free- dom of one colony, is agitated, I earnestly wish that all the rest may, with equal ardor, support their sister. Very much may be said on this subject; but, I hope, more at present is unnecessary. With concern I have observed that two as- semblies of this province have sat and ad- journed, without taking any notice of this act. It may perhaps be asked, what would have been proper for them to do ? I am by no means fond of inflammatory measures; I de- test them. I should be sorry that any thing should be done which might justly displease our sovereign, or our mother country: But a firm, modest exertion of a free spirit should never be wanting on public occasions. It appears to me that it would have been suf- ficient for the assembly to have ordered our agents to represent to the King's ministers their sense of the suspending act, and to pray for its repeal. Thus we should have borne our testimony against it; and might therefore reasonably expect that, on a like occasion, we might receive the same assistance from the other colonies. Concordia res parvce crescunt. Small things grow great by concord. November 5.2 A Farmer. LETTER XI 1 See the act of suspension. My dear Countrymen: I have several times, in the course of these letters, mentioned the late act of parliament, as being the foundation of future measures in- jurious to these colonies; and the belief of this truth I wish to prevail, because I think it necessary to our safety. A perpetual jealousy, respecting liberty, is absolutely requisite in all free states. The very texture of their constitution, in mixed governments, demands it. For the cautions with which power is distributed among the several orders imply that each has that share which is proper for the general welfare, and therefore that any further acquisition must be pernicious. Machiavel employs a whole 1 The day of King William the Third's landing. 122 JOHN DICKINSON chapter in liis discourses' to prove that a state, to be long Hved, must be frequently corrected, and reduced to its first principles. Hut, of all states that have existed, there never was any in which this jealousy could be more proper than in these colonies, for the government here is not only mixed, but dependent, which circumstance occasions a peculiarity in its form of a very delicate nature. Two reasons induce me to desire that this spirit of apprehension may be always kept up amonn; us, in its utmost vigilance. The first is this — that as the happiness of these provinces indubitably consists in their con- nection with Great Britain, any separation be- tween them is less likely to be occasioned by civil discords if every disgusting measure is opposed sins^ly, and while it is new: For in this manner of proceeding every such meas- ure is most likely to be rectified. On the other hand, oppressions and dissatisfactions being permitted to accumulate — if ever the governed throw off the load, they will do more. A people does not reform with mod- eration. The rights of the subject, therefore, cannot be too often considered, explained, or asserted: and whoever attempts to do this shows himself, whatever may be the rash and peevish reflections of pretended wisdom, and pretended duty, a friend to those who in- judiciously exercise their power, as well as to them over whom it is so exercised. Had all the points of prerogative claimed by Charles the First been separately con- tested and settled in preceding reigns, his fate would in all probability have been very different; and the people would have been content with that liberty which is compat- ible with regal authority. But he thought it would be as dangerous for him to give up the powers which at any time had been by usur- pation exercised by the crown, as those that were legally vested in it. 2 This produced an 1 Machiavel's Discourses, Bk. 3, Chap. i. 2 The author is sensible that this is putting the gentlest construction on Charles's conduct, and that is one reason why he chooses it. Allowances ought to be made for the errors of those men who are acknowl- edged to have been possessed of many virtues. The education of this unhappy prince, and his confidence in men not so good or wise as himself, had probably filled him with mistaken notions of his own authority, and of the consequences that would attend concessions of any kind to a people who were represented to him as aiming at too much power. equal excess on the part of the people. For when their passions were excited by multi- plied grievances, they thought it would be as dangerous for them to allow the powers that w^ere legally vested in the crown as those which at any time had been by usurpation exercised by it. Acts that might by them- selves have been upon many considerations excused or extenuated, derived a contagious malignancy and odium from other acts with which they were connected. They were not regarded according to the simple force of each, but as parts of a system of oppression. Every one, therefore, however small in it- self, became alarming, as an additional evi- dence of tyrannical designs. It was in vain for prudent and moderate men to insist that there was no necessity to abolish royalty. Nothing less than the utter destruction of monarchy could satisfy those who had suf- fered, and thought they had reason to be- lieve they always should suffer under it. The consequences of these mutual distrusts are well known: But there is no other people mentioned in history, that I recollect, who have been so constantly watchful of their lib- erty, and so successful in their struggles for it, as the English. This consideration leads me to the second reason why I "desire that the spirit of apprehension may be always kept up among us in its utmost vigilance." The first principles of government are to be looked for in human nature. Some of the best writers have asserted, and it seems with wMth good reason, that "government is found- ed on opinion.'^ ^ Custom undoubtedly has a mighty force in producing opinion, and reigns in nothing more arbitrarily than in public aflPairs. It gradually reconciles us to objects even of 3 "Opinion is of two kinds, viz., opinion of interest, and opinion of right. By opinion of interest I chiefly understand the sense of the public advantage ivhich is reaped from government, together with the persuasion that the particular government which is established is equally advantageous with any other that could be easily settled." "Right is of two kinds, right to power, and right to property. What prevalence opinion of the first kind has over mankind may easily be understood, by ob- serving the attachment which all nations have to their ancient government, and even to those names which have had the sanction of antiquity. Antiquity always begets the opinion of right." — "It is sufficiently under- stood that the opinion of right to property is of the greatest moment in all matters of government." — Hume's Essays. LETTERS FROM A FARMER IN PENNSYLVANIA 123 dread and detestation; and I cannot but think these lines of Mr. Pope as appHcable to vice in politics as to vice in ethics: Vice is a monster of so horrid mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, famiUar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace} When an act injurious to freedom has been once done, and the people bear it, the repe- tition of it is most likely to meet with sub- mission. For as the mischief of the one was found to be tolerable, they will hope that of the second will prove so too; and they will not regard the infamy of the last, because they are stained with that of the first. Indeed nations, in general, are not apt to think until they feel; and therefore nations in general have lost their liberty: For as vio- lations of the rights of the governed are com- monly not only specious'^ but small at the be- ginning, they spread over the multitude in such a manner as to touch individuals but slightly. Thus they are disregarded. ^ The power or profit that arises from these vio- lations, centering in few persons^ is to them considerable. For this reason the governors having in view their particular purposes, successively preserve an uniformity of con- duct for attaining them. They regularly in- crease the first injuries, till at length the inattentive people are compelled to perceive the heaviness of their burthens. They begin to complain and inquire — but too late. They find their oppressors so strengthened by success, and themselves so entangled in ex- amples of express authority on the part of 1 [Essay on Man, II, 217-220.] 2 Omnia mala exempla ex bonis initiis orta sunt. [All bad precedents have arisen from good beginnings.] Sallust, Bell. Cat. S. 50. 3 "The republic is always attacked with greater vigor than it is defended: For the audacious and profligate, prompted by their natural enmity to it, are easily impelled to act by the least nod of their leaders: Whereas the HONEST, I know not why, are generally slow and unwilling to stir; and neglecting always the beginnings of things, are never roused to exert themselves, but by the last necessity: So that through irresolution and DELAY, when they would be glad to compound at last for their quiet, at the expense even of their honor, they commonly lose them both." — Cicero's Orat.for Sextius. Such were the sentiments of this great and excellent man, whose vast abilities, and the calamities of his country during his time, enabled him, by mournful experience, to form a just judgment on the conduct of the friends and enemies of liberty. their rulers, and of tacit recognition on their own part, that they are quite confounded: For millions entertain no other idea of the legality of power than that it is founded on the exercise of power. They voluntarily fasten their chains, by adopting a pusillani- mous opinion, "that there will be too much danger in attempting a remedy," — or another opinion no less fatal, — "that the govern- ment has a right to treat them as it does." They then seek a wretched relief for their minds, by persuading themselves that to yield their obedience is to discharge their duty. The deplorable poverty of spirit that pros- trates all the dignity bestowed by divine providence on our nature — of course succeeds. From these reflections I conclude that every free state should incessantly watch, and instantly take alarm on any addition being made to the power exercised over them. Innumerable instances might be produced to show from what slight beginnings the most extensive consequences have flowed: But I shall select two only from the history oi Eng- land. Henry the Seventh was the first monarch of that kingdom who established a standing BODY OF ARMED MEN. This was a band of fifty archers, called yeomen of the guard: And this institution, notwithstanding the small- ness of the number, was, to prevent dis- content, "disguised under pretense of maj- esty and grandeur.""* In 1684 the standing forces were so much augmented that Rapin says: "The king, in order to make his people fully sensible of their new slavery, aflPected to muster his troops, which amounted to 4,000 well armed and disciplined men." I think our army, at this time, consists of more than seventy regiments. The method of taxing by excise was first introduced amidst the convulsions of the civil wars. Extreme necessity was pretended for it, and its short continuance promised. After the restoration, an excise upon beefy ale, and other liquors was granted to the king,^ one half in fee, the other for life, as an equivalent for the court of wards. Upon James the Sec- ond's accession, the parliament^ gave him the first excise, with an additional duty on * Rapin's History of England. * 12 Char. II., Chaps. 23 and 24. [Statutes of the Realm.] « I James 11. y Chaps, i and 4. [Statutes of the Realm.] 124 JOHN DICKINSON uinr, tobacco, and some other things. Since the revolution it has been extended to salt, candles, leather, hides, hops, soap, paper, paste-boards, mill-boards, scale-boards, vel- lum, parchment, starch, silks, calicoes, linens, stuffs, printed, stained, etc., wire, wrought plate, coffee, tea, chocolate, etc. Thus a standing army and excise have, from their first slender origins, though al- ways hated^ always feared, always opposed, at length swelled up to their vast present bulk, rhese facts are sufficient to support what I have said. 'lis true that all the mischiefs apprehended by our ancestors from a stand- ing army and excise have not yet happened: But it does not follow from thence that they zvill not happen. Ihe inside of a house may catch fire, and the most valuable apartments be ruined, before the flames burst out. The question in these cases is not what evil has actually attended particular measures — but what evil, in the nature of thmgs, is likely to attend them. Certain circumstances may for some time delay effects, that zuere reasonably expected, and that must ensue. There was a long period after the Romans had prorogued his command to Q. Publilius Philo,^ before that example destroyed their liberty. All our kmgs, from the revolution to the pres- ent reign, have been foreigners. Their min- isters generally continued but a short time in authority;^ and they themselves were mild and virtuous princes. A bold, ambitious prince, possessed of great abilities, firmly fixed in his throne by descent, ' In the year of the city 428, "Duo singularia htec ei viro primum contigere; prorogatio imperii non ante in ullo /acta, et acta honore triumphus." [These two remarkable; things for the first time fell to the lot of that man: t-he extension of his office, hitherto never made in the case of any man, and, on the completion of his term of office, a triumph.] — Livy, Bk. 8, Chaps. 23,26. "Had the rest of the Roman citizens imitated the example of L. ^uintius, who refused to have his con- sulship continued to him, they had never admitted that custom of proroguing of magistrates, and then the prolongation of their commands in the army had never been introduced, which very thing was at length the ruin of that commonwealth." — Machiavel's Dis- courses, Bk. 3, Chap. 24. 2 1 don't know but it may be said, with a good deal of reason, that a quick rotation of ministers is very desirable in Great Britain. A minister there has a vast store of materials to work with. Long administrations are rather favorable to the reputation of a people abroad than to their liberty. served by ministers like himself, and rendered either venerable or terrible by the glory of his successes, may execute what his predecessors did not dare to attempt. Henry the Fourth tottered, in his seat during his whole reign. Henry the Fifth drew the strength of that kingdom into France, to carry on his wars there, and left the commons at home, protest- ing "that the people were not bound to serve out of the realm." It is true that a strong spirit of liberty sub- sists at present in Great Britain, but what re- liance is to be placed in the temper of a people when the prince is possessed of an unconsti- tutional power, our own history can suf- ficiently inform us. When Charles the Sec- ond had strengthened himself by the return of the garrison of Tangier, ^' England,^' says Rapin "saw on a sudden an amazing rev- olution; saw herself stripped of all her rights and privileges, excepting such as the king should vouchsafe to grant her: And what is more astonishing^ the English themselves delivered up these very rights and privileges to Charles the Second, which they had so passionately and, if I may say it, furiously defended against the designs of Charles the First." This happened only thirty-six years after this last prince had been beheaded. Some persons are of opinion that liberty is not violated, but by such open acts of force; but they seem to be greatly mistaken. I could mention a period within these forty years, when almost as great a change of disposition was produced by the secret measures of a long administration, as by Charleses violence. Liberty, perhaps, is never exposed to so much danger as when the people believe there is the least; for it may be subverted, and yet they not think so. Public disgusting acts are seldom practiced by the ambitious, at the beginning of their designs. Such conduct silences and dis- courages the weak, and the wicked, who would otherwise have been their advocates or accomplices. It is of great consequence to allow those who, upon any account, are inclined to favor them, something specious to say in their defense. Their power may be fully established, though it would not be safe for them to do whatever they please. For there are things, which, at some times, even slaves will not bear. Julius Ccesar, and LETTERS FROM A FARMER IN PENNSYLVANIA 125 Oliver Cromwell, did not dare to assume the title of king. The Grand Seignior dares not lay a nezv tax. The king of France dares not be a protestant. Certain popular points may be left untouched, and yet freedom be extinguished. The commonalty of Venice imagine themselves free, because they are permitted to do what they ought not. But I quit a subject that would lead me too far from my purpose. By the late act of parliament taxes are to be levied upon us, for "defraying the charge of the administration of justice — the support of civil government — and the expenses of de- fending his Majesty's dominions in America'^ If any man doubts what ought to be the conduct of these colonies on this occasion, I would ask him these questions: Has not the parliament expressly avowed their intention of raising money from us FOR CERTAIN PURPOSES? Is not this Scheme popular in Great Britain? Will the taxes, imposed by the late act, answer those pur- poses? If it will, must it not take an im- mense sum from us? If it will not, is it to he expected that the parliament will not fully execute their intention when it is pleasing at home, and not opposed here? Must not this be done by imposing new taxes? Will not every addition, thus made to our taxes, be an addition to the power of the British legislature, by increasing the number of officers employed in the collection? Will not every additional tax therefore render it more difficult to abrogate any of them? When a branch of revenue is once established, does it not appear to many people invidious and undutiful to attempt to abolish it? If taxes, sufficient to accomplish the intention of the parliament, are imposed by the parliament, what taxes will remain to be imposed by our assemblies? If no material taxes remain to be imposed by them, what must become of them, and the people they represent? "If any person considers these things, and yet thinks our liberties are in no danger, I wonder at that person's security. "^ One other argument is to be added which, by itself, I hope, will be sufficient to convince the most incredulous man on this continent that the late act of parliament is only de- signed to be a precedent, whereon the 1 Demosthenes's Second Philippic. future vassalage of these colonies may be established. Every duty thereby laid on articles of British manufacture, is laid on some com- modity, upon the exportation of which from Great Britain a drawback is payable. Those drawbacks, in most of the articles, are exactly double to the duties given by the late act. The parliament therefore might, in half a dozen lines, have raised much more money, only by stopping the drawbacks in the hands of the officers at home, on exportation to these colonies, than by this solemn imposition of taxes upon us, to be collected here. Prob- ably the artful contrivers of this act formed it in this manner in order to reserve to them- selves, in case of any objections being made to it, this specious pretense — "That the drawbacks are gifts to the colonies, and that the late act only lessens those gifts." But the truth is that the drawbacks are intended for the encouragement and promotion of British manufactures and commerce, and are allowed on exportation to any foreign parts, as well as on exportation to these provinces. Besides, care has been taken to slide into the act some articles on which there are no drawbacks. However, the whole duties laid by the late act on all the articles therein specified are so small, that they will not amount to as much as the draw- backs which are allowed on part of them only. If, therefore, the sum to he obtained by the late act had been the sole object in forming it, there would not have been any occasion for "the commons of Great Britain to give and GRANT to his Majesty rates and duties for raising a revenue in his Majesty's dominions in America, for making a more certain and adequate provision for defray- ing the charges of the administration of justice, the support of civil government, and the expense of defending the said domin- ions";— nor would there have been any occasion for an expensive board of com- missioners,2 and all the other new charges to which we are made liable. 2 The expense of this board, I am informed, is be- tween Four and Five Thousand Pounds Sterling a year. The establishment of officers, for collecting the revenue in America, amounted before to Seven Thousand Six Hundred Pounds per annum; and yet, says the author of I'he Regulation oj the Colonies, " the whole remittance from all the taxes in the colonies, at an average of thirty years, has not amounted to One Thousand Nine 126 JOHN DICKINSON Upon tin- wholf, for my part, 1 rt-^ard the late act as an rxprrimrnt made of our dispnsitinn. It is a bird sent out over the Hundred Pounds a year, and in that sum Seven or F.ight Hundred Pounds per annum only have been remitted from Sorlh .imerica." The smallness of the revenue arising from the duties in .huerica clemonstrates that they were intended only as RF.ci'i.ATioNS OF TRADK: And can any person be so blind to truth, so dull of apprehension in a matter of unspeakable importance to his country, as to imag- ine that the board of commissioners lately established at such a charge, is instituted to assist in collecting One Thousand ^Ninc Hundred Pounds a year, or the trifling duties imposed by the late act? Surely every waters, to discover whether the waves that lately agitated this part of the world with such violence are yet subsided. If this adventurer trets footing here, we shall quickly find it to be of the kind described by the poet : Infelix vates} A direful foreteller of future calamities. ^A Farmer. man on this continent must perceive that they are established for the care of a new svstem of revenue, which is but now begun. » Virgil, yEneid, Bk. Ill [209 fF. The quoted phrase, referring to Celaeno, occurs in 1. 246]. ST. JOHN DE CREVECCEUR (1735-1813) Michel-Guillaume Jean de Crevecoeur was born at Caen, France, on 31 January, 1735. His family belonged to the gentry of the district. He was sent to a Jesuit school, but his formal education apparently was, save perhaps in mathematics, slight, and it ended early. Probably in 1753 he went to Salisbury, England, where he seems to have lived for a time with distant relatives. His latest biog- rapher (Miss J. P. Mitchell) conjectures that it was the death of a young Englishwoman to whom Crevecoeur had become engaged which caused his departure for America in 1754. He landed in Can- ada and became a lieutenant in the French army of Montcalm. His duties were those of an engineer and map-maker, and the latter activity involved much traveling. After the fall of Quebec (1759), Crevecoeur came to New York. During the next several years he led a wandering life, apparently earning his livelihood by surveying. Either upon his landing in New York or shortly thereafter he assumed the name "John Hector St. John," a name which he kept during the period of his American residence. In 1765 or 1766 he was naturalized a citizen of the colony of New York. Several years later (1769) he was married to Miss Mehetable Tippet of Yonkers, and, a couple of months after this event, he purchased a farm in Orange County, which he named Pine Hill. Here Crevecoeur lived happily, until the outbreak and progress of the Revolution brought trouble upon him. Perplexed and distressed by the war — he apparently thought it a lawless uprising of the vulgar mob — he sym- pathized with the Tories, or Loyalists; and finally in 1779 he went with a son, leaving his wife and two other children behind, to seek refuge with the British in the city of New York. There his situa- tion was miserable, and was presently made even worse when the British imprisoned him because they had received an anonymous letter charging that he was acting as a spy. After his release he sailed, in the early fall of 1780, for England, where he sold his Letters to a London publisher. In the following year he returned to France. There he turned some of his Letters into French, and they were published as Lettres d'un Cultivateur Americain in 1784. They proved popular and were later republished with additions. Meanwhile Crevecoeur had been appointed French consul to New York, New Jerse}^, and Connecticut, and he held this post from 1783 to 1790. In the spring of the latter year he returned to France on a leave of absence. He never saw America again. He took many precautions, which were successful, to avoid personal danger through the years of the French Revolution, and lived chiefly in France until his death in 1813. His only literary work of any consequence during this period was his Voyage datis la haute Pensylvanie et dans CEtat de New-York, published in three volumes in Paris in 1801. The Letters from an American Farmer; describing certain Provincial Situations, Manners, and Customs, not Generally Known; and conveying some Idea of the Late and Present Interior Circumstances of the British Colonies in North America, "written for the information of a friend in England, by J. Hector St. John, a farmer in Pennsylvania," were published in London by Thomas Davies and Lock- yer Davis in 1782. Crevecoeur pretended to write the Dedication from "Carlisle in Pennsylvania." While it is not, perhaps, certain that Crevecoeur was never engaged in farming in that state, still, it is probable that the general form of his book, as well as its title, was suggested by John Dickinson's widely known Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania. The volume (like Dickinson's) contains twelve letters. One describes "the situation, feelings, and pleasures of an American farmer"; two others are "on snakes and on the humming-bird" and on the "distresses of a frontiersman"; others still are con- cerned with Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard and with Charleston, South Carolina. The French editions of the Letters not only exhibit a number of very curious changes which Crevecoeur made to adapt them to the taste of their new public, but also include some additional letters. The autograph manuscripts containing these and, besides, others never published, were recently found by Mr. H. L. Bourdin in the country house of M. le Comte Louis de Crevecoeur, near Saumur, and were in 1925 given to the public imder the title. Sketches of Eighteenth Century America. This volume is a welcome addition to Crevecoeur's English writings, though it contains little or nothing that would be unexpected to the reader of the Letters of 1782. Crevecoeur complained: "Few of the writers about America have resided here, and those who have, have not pervaded every part of the country, nor carefully examined the nature and principles of our association." He himself had, for his day, an unusually sound knowledge of the land, "for at one 127 128 ST. JOHN DE CRKVECCEUR time or anotlur he lucamc familiar with Canada, with Nova Scotia and St. John s, with the country about the Kennebec and the region later known as Vermont, with Massachusetts and Connecticut, Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard, with New York and Tennsylvania and some, at least, of the south- ern states, with parts of Ohio and Kentucky, and probably with Jamaica and Bermuda." (Miss J. V .MitchJil ) Hence it is probable that, despite multitudinous small inaccuracies and much fabri- cation, Crevectrur's narratives and descriptions have some real basis in fact. And they have not only this value, but also a freshness and a charm which remain, even after one has learned something of the author's lack of integrity and so has begun to wonder if the Letters were deliberately composed to meet a contemporary demand for the outpourings of naive "men of feeling." When Crevecoeur turned the Lrttrrs into French he greatly altered them so as to increase their sentimental appeal, but this scarcely proves that he was not what he calls himself, a "farmer of feelings." As such we do best to take him, without asking too many questions. LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN FARMER LETTER III, WHAT IS AN AMERICAN.?! I WISH I could be acquainted with the feel- ings and thoughts which must agitate the heart and present themselves to the mind of an enlightened Englishman, when he first lands on this continent. He must greatly rejoice that he lived at a time to see this fair country discovered and settled; he must necessarily feel a share of national pride, when he views the chain of settlements which embellishes these extended shores. When he says to himself, this is the work of my countrymen, who, when convulsed by fac- tions, afflicted by a variety of miseries and wants, restless and impatient, took refuge here. They brought along with them their national genius, to which they principally owe what liberty they enjoy, and what sub- stance they possess. Here he sees the in- dustry of his native country displayed in a new manner, and traces in their works the embryos of all the arts, sciences, and in- genuity which flourish in Europe. Here he beholds fair cities, substantial villages, ex- tensive fields, an immense country filled with decent houses, good roads, orchards, mead- ows, and bridges, where an hundred years ago all was wild, woody, and uncultivated! What a train of pleasing ideas this fair spectacle must suggest; it is a prospect which must inspire a good citizen with the most 1 Reprinted from a copy of the first edition. The Letter is divided into two parts, of which the second (containing the "History of Andrew, the Hebridean") is h;re omitted. Crevecceur's manuscript, as we now know, was extensively corrected for the press by some one in the employ of his publishers. He wrote very imperfectly in English. C'Note on the Text," Sketches of Eighteenth Century America.) heartfelt pleasure. The difficulty consists in the manner of viewing so extensive a scene. He is arrived on a new continent; a modern society offers itself to his contemplation, different from what he had hitherto seen. It is not composed, as in Europe, of great lords who possess everything, and of a herd of people who have nothing. Here are no aristocratical families, no courts, no kings, no bishops, no ecclesiastical dominion, no in- visible power giving to a few a very visible one; no great manufacturers employing thou- sands, no great refinements of luxury. The rich and the poor are not so far removed from each other as they are in Europe. Some few towns excepted, we are all tillers of the earth, from Nova Scotia to West Florida. We are a people of cultivators, scattered over an immense territory, communicating with each other by means of good roads and navigable rivers, united by the silken bands of mild government, all respecting the laws, without dreading their power, because they are equi- table. We are all animated with the spirit of an industry which is unfettered and unre- strained, because each person works for him- self. If he travels through our rural districts he views not the hostile castle, and the haughty mansion, contrasted with the clay- built hut and miserable cabin, where cattle and men help to keep each other warm, and dwell in meanness, smoke, and indigence. A pleasing uniformity of decent competence appears throughout our habitations. The meanest of our log-houses is a dry and com- fortable habitation. Lawyer or merchant are the fairest titles our towns afford; that of a farmer is the only appellation of the rural inhabitants of our country. It must take some time ere he can reconcile himself to our dictionary, which is but short in words of dignity, and names of honor. There, on a LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN FARMER 129 Sunday, he sees a congregation of respectable farmers and their wives, all clad in neat homespun, well mounted, or riding in their own humble wagons. There is not among them an esquire, saving the unlettered magis- trate. There he sees a parson as simple as his flock, a farmer who does not riot on the labor of others. We have no princes, for whom we toil, starve, and bleed: we are the most perfect society now existing in the world. Here man is free as he ought to be; nor is this pleasing equality so transitory as many others are. Many ages will not see the shores of our great lakes replenished with inland nations, nor the unknown bounds of North America entirely peopled. Who can tell how far it extends.? Who can tell the millions of men whom it will feed and con- tam.? for no European foot has as yet trav- eled half the extent of this mighty continent! The next wish of this traveler will be to know whence came all these people? they are a mixture of English, Scotch, Irish, French, Dutch, Germans, and Swedes. From this promiscuous breed, that race now called Americans have arisen. The eastern prov- inces must indeed be excepted, as being the unmixed descendants of Englishmen. I have heard many wish that they had been more intermixed also: for my part, I am no wisher, and think it much better as it has happened. They exhibit a most conspicuous figure in this great and variegated picture; they too enter for a great share in the pleasing per- spective displayed in these thirteen prov- inces. I know it is fashionable to reflect on them, but I respect them for what they have done; for the accuracy and wisdom with which they have settled their territory; for the decency of their manners; for their early love of letters; their ancient college, the first in this hemisphere; for their industry; which to me who am but a farmer, is the criterion of everything. There never was a people, situ- ated as they are, who w4th so ungrateful a soil have done more in so short a time. Do you think that the monarchical ingredients which are more prevalent in other govern- ments, have purged them from all foul stains.? Their histories assert the contrary. In this great American asylum, the poor of Europe have by some means met together, and in consequence of various causes; to what purpose should they ask one another what countrymen they are.? Alas, two thirds of them had no country. Can a wretch who wanders about, who works and starves, whose life is a continual scene of sore affliction or pinching penury; can that man call England or any other kingdom his country? A country that had no bread for him, whose fields procured him no harvest, who met with nothing but the frowns of the rich, the severity of the laws, with jails and punishments; who owned not a single foot of the extensive surface of this planet? No! urged by a variety of motives, here they came. Every thing has tended to regenerate them; new laws, a new mode of living, a new social system; here they are become men: in Europe they were as so many useless plants, wanting vegetative mold, and refreshing showers; they withered, and were mowed down by want, hunger, and war; but now by the power of transplantation, like all other plants they have taken root and flourished! Formerly they were not numbered in any civil lists of their country, except in those of the poor; here they rank as citizens. By what invisible power has this surprising meta- morphosis been performed? By that of the laws and that of their industry. The laws, the indulgent laws, protect them as they arrive, stamping on them the symbol of adop- tion; they receive ample rewards for their labors; these accumulated rewards procure them lands; those lands confer on them the title of freemen, and to that title every bene- fit is affixed which men can possibly require. This is the great operation daily performed by our laws. From whence proceed these laws? From our government. Whence the government? It is derived from the original genius and strong desire of the people ratified and confirmed by the crown. This is the great chain which links us all, this is the pic- ture which every province exhibits. Nova Scotia excepted. There the crown has done all; either there were no people who had genius, or it was not much attended to: the consequence is, that the province is very thinly inhabited indeed; the power of the crown in conjunction with the mosquitos has prevented men from settling there. Yet some parts of it flourished once, and it con- tained a mild harmless set of people. But for the fault of a few leaders, the whole were banished. The greatest political error the UO ST. JOHN DE CREVECCEUR crown ever coininltttcl in America, was to cut otf men from a country which wanted nothinu: hut men! What attachment can a poor European emigrant have for a country where he had nothing? The knowledge of the language, the love of a few kindred as poor as himself, were the only cords that tied him: his country is now that which gives him land, bread, pro- tection, and consequence. Ubi panis ibi patria, is the motto of all emigrants. What then is the American, this new man.? He is either an European, or the descendant of an European, hence that strange mixture of blood, which you will find in no other coun- try. I could point out to you a family whose grandfather was an Englishman, whose wife was Dutch, whose son married a French woman, and whose present four sons have now four wives of different nations. He is an American, who, leaving behind him all his ancient prejudices and manners, receives new ones from the new mode of life he has em- braced, the new government he obeys, and the new rank he holds. He becomes an American by being received in the broad lap of our great Alma Mater. Here individuals of all nations are melted into a new race of men, whose labors and posterity will one day cause great changes in the world. Americans are the western pilgrims, who are carrying along with them that great mass of arts, sciences, vigor, and industry which began long since in the east; they will finish the great circle. The Americans were once scattered all over Europe; here they are in- corporated into one of the finest systems of population which has ever appeared, and which will hereafter become distinct by the power of the diflFerent climates they inhabit. The American ought therefore to love this country much better than that wherein either he or his forefathers were born. Here the rewards of his industry follow with equal steps the progress of his labor; his labor is founded on the basis of nature, self-interest; can it want a stronger allurement.? Wives and children, who before in vain demanded of him a n.orsel of bread, now, fat and frolic- some, gladly help their father to clear those fields whence exuberant crops are to arise to feed and to clothe them all; without any part being claimed, either by a despotic prince, a rich abbot, or a mighty lord. Here religion demands but little of him; a small voluntary salary to the minister, and grati- tude to God; can he refuse these.? The American is a new man, who acts upon new principles; he must therefore entertain new ideas, and form new opinions. From in- voluntary idleness, servile dependence, pen- ury, and useless labor, he has passed to toils of a very diflFerent nature, rewarded by ample subsistence. — This is an American. British America is divided into many provinces, forming a large association, scat- tered along a coast 1500 miles extent and about 200 wide. This society I would fain examine, at least such as it appears in the middle provinces; if it does not afford that variety of tinges and gradations which may be observed in Europe, we have colors peculiar to ourselves. For instance, it is natural to conceive that those who live near the sea, must be very different from those who live in the woods; the intermediate space will afford a separate and distinct class. Men are like plants; the goodness and flavor of the fruit proceeds from the peculiar soil and exposition in which they grow. We are nothing but what we derive from the air we breathe, the climate we inhabit, the gov- ernment we obey, the system of religion we profess, and the nature of our employment. Here you will find but few crimes; these have acquired as yet no root among us, I wish I was able to trace all my ideas; if my igno- rance prevents me from describing them properly, I hope I shall be able to delineate a few of the outlines, which are all I propose. Those who live near the sea, feed more on fish than on flesh, and often encounter that boisterous element. This renders them more bold and enterprising; this leads them to neglect the confined occupations of the land. They see and converse with a variety of people; their intercourse with mankind be- comes extensive. The sea inspires them with a love of traffic, a desire of transporting produce from one place to another; and leads them to a variety of resources which supply the place of labor. Those who inhabit the middle settlements, by far the most numer- ous, must be very different; the simple culti- vation of the earth purifies them, but the indulgences of the government, the soft re- monstrances of religion, the rank of inde- LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN FARMER 131 pendent freeholders, must necessarily inspire them with sentiments, very little known in Europe among people of the same class. What do I say? Europe has no such class of men; the early knowledge they acquire, the early bargains they make, give them a great degree of sagacity. As freemen they will be litigious; pride and obstinacy are often the cause of law suits; the nature of our laws and governments may be another. As citizens it is easy to imagine, that they will carefully read the newspapers, enter into every politi- cal disquisition, freely blame or censure governors and others. As farmers they will be careful and anxious to get as much as they can, because what they get is their own. As northern men they will love the cheerful cup. As Christians, religion curbs them not in their opinions; the general indulgence leaves every one to think for themselves in spiritual matters; the laws inspect our actions, our thoughts are left to God. Industry, good living, selfishness, litigiousness, country poli- tics, the pride of freemen, religious indiffer- ence, are their characteristics. If you recede still farther from the sea, you will come into more modern settlements; they exhibit the same strong lineaments, in a ruder appear- ance. Religion seems to have still less influ- ence, and their manners are less improved. Now we arrive near the great woods, near the last inhabited districts; there men seem to be placed still farther beyond the reach of government, which m some measure leaves them to themselves. How can it pervade every corner; as they were driven there by misfortunes, necessity of beginnings, desire of acquiring large tracts of land, idleness, fre- quent want of economy, ancient debts; the re-union of such people does not afford a very pleasing spectacle. When discord, want of unity and friendship; when either drunken- ness or idleness prevail in such remote dis- tricts; contention, inactivity, and wretched- ness must ensue. There are not the same remedies to these evils as in a long established community. The few magistrates they have, are in general little better than the rest; they are often in a perfect state of war; that of man against man, sometimes decided by blows, sometimes by means of the law; that of man against every wild inhabitant of these venerable woods, of which they are come to dispossess them. There men appear to be no better than carnivorous animals of a superior rank, living on the flesh of wild animals when they can catch them, and when they are not able, they subsist on grain. He who would wish to see America in its proper light, and have a true idea of its feeble beginnings and barbarous rudiments, must visit our ex- tended line of frontiers where the last settlers dwell, and where he may see the first labors of settlement, the mode of clearing the earth, in all their different appearances; where men are wholly left dependent on their native tempers, and on the spur of uncertain in- dustry, which often fails when not sanctified by the eflSicacy of a few moral rules. There, remote from the power of example and check of shame, many families exhibit the most hideous parts of our society. They are a kind of forlorn hope, preceding by ten or twelve years the most respectable army of veterans which come after them. In that space, prosperity will polish some, vice and the law will drive off the rest, who uniting again with others like themselves will recede still farther; making room for more industri- ous people, who will finish their improve- ments, convert the log-house into a conven- ient habitation, and rejoicing that the first heavy labors are finished, will change in a few years that hitherto barbarous country into a fine, fertile, well regulated district. Such is our progress, such is the march of the Europeans toward the interior parts of this continent. In all societies there are oflf- casts; this impure part serves as our pre- cursors or pioneers; my father himself was one of that class, but he came upon honest principles, and was therefore one of the few who held fast; by good conduct and temper- ance, he transmitted to me his fair inherit- ance, when not above one in fourteen of his contemporaries had the same good fortune. Forty years ago this smiling country was thus inhabited; it is now purged, a general decency of manners prevails throughout, and such has been the fate of our best countries. Exclusive of those general characteristics, each province has its own, founded on the government, climate, mode of husbandry, customs, and peculiarity of circumstances. Europeans submit insensibly to these great powers, and become, in the course of a few generations, not only Americans in general, but either Pennsylvanians, Virginians, or u^ ST. JOHN DE CREVECOEUR provincials under some other name. Who- ever traverses the continent must easily ob- serve those strong; differences, which will grow more evident in time. The inhabitants of Canada, Massachusetts, the middle prov- inces, the southern ones will be as different as their climates; their only points of unity will be those of religion and language. As 1 have endeavored to show you how Europeans become Americans, it may not be disagreeable to show you likewise how the various Christian sects introduced, wear out, and how religious indifference becomes prev- alent. When any considerable number of a particular sect happen to dwell contiguous to each other, they immediately erect a temple, and there worship the Divinity agreeably to their own peculiar ideas. No- body disturbs them. If any new sect springs up in Europe it may happen that many of its professors will come and settle in America. As they bring their zeal with them, they are at liberty to make prose- lytes if they can, and to build a meeting and to follow the dictates of their con- sciences; for neither the government nor any other power interferes. If they are peaceable subjects, and are mdustrious, what is it to their neighbors how and in what manner they think fit to address their prayers to the Supreme Being .^ But if the sectaries are not settled close together, if they are mixed with other denominations, their zeal will cool for want of fuel, and will be extin- guished in a little time. Then the Americans become as to religion, what they are as to country, allied to all. In them the name of Englishman, Frenchman, and European is lost, and in like manner, the strict modes of Christianity as practiced in Europe are lost also. This effect will extend itself still farther hereafter, and though this may ap- pear to you as a strange idea, yet it is a very true one. I shall be able perhaps hereafter to explain myself better; in the meanwhile, let the following example serve as my first justification. Let us suppose you and I to be traveling; we observe that in this house, to the right, lives a Catholic, who prays to God as he has been taught, and believes in transubstantia- tion; he works and raises wheat, he has a large family of children, all hale and robust; his belief, his prayers offend nobody. About one mile farther on the same road, his next neighbor may be a good honest plodding (jerman Lutheran, who addresses himself to the same God, the God of all, agreeably to the modes he has been educated in, and be- lieves in consubstantiation; by so doing he scandalizes nobody; he also works in his fields, embellishes the earth, clears swamps, etc. What has the world to do with his Lutheran principles? He persecutes nobody, and nobody persecutes him, he visits his neighbors, and his neighbors visit him. Next to him lives a seceder, the most enthusi- astic of all sectaries; his zeal is hot and fiery, but separated as he is from others of the same complexion, he has no congregation of his own to resort to, where he might cabal and mingle religious pride with worldly obstinacy. He likewise raises good crops, his house is handsomely painted, his orchard is one of the fairest in the neighborhood. How does it concern the welfare of the country, or of the province at large, what this man's religious sentiments are, or really whether he has any at all.'' He is a good farmer, he is a sober, peaceable, good citizen: William Penn him- self would not wish for more. This is the visible character, the invisible one is only guessed at, and is nobody's business. Next again lives a Low Dutchman, who implicitly believes the rules laid down by the synod of Dort. He conceives no other idea of a cler- gyman than that of an hired man; if he does his work well he will pay him the stipulated sum; if not he will dismiss him, and do with- out his sermons, and let his church be shut up for years. But notwithstanding this coarse idea, you will find his house and farm to be the neatest in all the country; and you will judge by his wagon and fat horses, that he thinks more of the affairs of this world than of those of the next. He is sober and labori- ous, therefore he is all he ought to be as to the affairs of this life; as for those of the next, he must trust to the great Creator. Each of these people instruct their children as well as they can, but these instructions are feeble compared to those which are given to the youth of the poorest class in Europe. Their children will therefore grow up less zealous and more indifferent in matters of religion than their parents. The foolish vanity, or rather the fury of making Proselytes, is unknown here; they have no time, the LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN FARMER 133 seasons call for all their attention, and thus in a few years, this mixed neighborhood will exhibit a strange religious medley, that will be neither pure Catholicism nor pure Cal- vinism. A very perceptible indifference even in the first generation, will become apparent; and it may happen that the daughter of the Catholic will marry the son of the seceder, and settle by themselves at a distance from their parents. What religious education will they give their children .'' A very imperfect one. If there happens to be in the neigh- borhood any place of worship, we will sup- pose a Quaker's meeting; rather than not show their fine clothes, they will go to it, and some of them may perhaps attach them- selves to that society. Others will remain in a perfect state of indifference; the children of these zealous parents will not be able to tell what their religious principles are, and their grandchildren still less. The neighborhood of a place of worship generally leads them to it, and the action of going thither, is the strongest evidence they can give of their attachment to any sect. The Quakers are the only people who retain a fondness for their own mode of worship; for be they ever so far separated from each other, they hold a sort of communion with the society, and seldom depart from its rules, at least in this country. Thus all sects are mixed as well as all nations; thus religious indifference is im- perceptibly disseminated from one end of the continent to the other; which is at present one of the strongest characteristics of the Americans. Where this will reach no one can tell, perhaps it may leave a vacuum fit to receive other systems. Persecution, religious pride, the love of contradiction, are the food of what the world commonly calls religion. These motives have ceased here; zeal in Europe is confined; here it evaporates in the great distance it has to travel; there it is a grain of powder inclosed, here it burns away in the open air, and consumes without effect. But to return to our back settlers. I must tell you that there is something in the proximity of the woods, which is very singu- lar. It is with men as it is with the plants and animals that grow and live in the forests; they are entirely different from those that live in the plains. I will candidly tell you all my thoughts but you are not to expect that I shall advance any reasons. By living in or near the woods, their actions are regulated by the wildness of the neighborhood. The deer often come to eat their grain, the wolves to destroy their sheep, the bears to kill their hogs, the foxes to catch their poultry. This surrounding hostility immediately puts the gun into their hands; they watch these animals, they kill some; and thus by defend- ing their property, they soon become pro- fessed hunters; this is the progress; once hunters, farewell to the plough. The chase renders them ferocious, gloomy, and un- sociable; a hunter wants no neighbor, he rather hates them, because he dreads the competition. In a little time their success in the woods makes them neglect their tillage. They trust to the natural fecundity of the earth, and therefore do little; carelessness in fencing often exposes what little they sow to destruction; they are not at home to watch; in order therefore to make up the deficiency they go oftener to the woods. That new mode of life brings along with it a new set of manners, which I cannot easily describe. These new manners being grafted on the old stock, produce a strange sort of lawless profligacy, the impressions of which are in- delible. The manners of the Indian natives are respectable, compared with this European medley. Their wives and children live in sloth and inactivity; and having no proper pursuits, you may judge what education the latter receive. Their tender minds have nothing else to contemplate but the example of their parents; like them they grow up a mongrel breed, half civilized, half savage, except nature stamps on them some constitu- tional propensities. That rich, that voluptu- ous sentiment is gone that struck them so forcibly; the possession of their freeholds no longer conveys to their minds the same pleasure and pride. To all these reasons you must add, their lonely situation, and you cannot imagine what an effect on manners the great distances they live from each other has! Consider one of the last settlements in its first view: of what is it composed.? Europeans who have not that suflScient share of knowledge they ought to have, in order to prosper; people who have suddenly passed from oppression, dread of government, and fear of laws, into the unlimited freedom of the woods. This sudden change must have a 134 Sr. JOHN OK CRF.VKCrEUR very Krcat t-rtVct on most nuii, and on that class particularly. Hating of wild meat, whatever you may think, tends to alter their- temper: thouuh all the proof 1 can adduce, is, that I have seen it: and having no place of worship to resort to, what little society this might ati\)rd is denied them. The Sunday meetings, exclusive of religious benefits, were the only social bonds that might have in- spired them with some degree of emulation in neatness. Is it then surprising to see men thus situated, immersed in great and heavy labors, degenerate a little.^ It is rather a wonder the effect is not more diffusive. The Moravians and the Quakers are the only instances in exception to what I have ad- vanced. The first never settle singly, it is a colony of the society which emigrates; they carry with them their forms, worship, rules, and decency: the others never begin so hard, they are always able to buy improvements, in which there is a great advantage, for by that time the country is recovered from its first barbarity. Thus our bad people are those who are half cultivators and half hunters; and the worst of them are those who have degenerated altogether into the hunting state. As old ploughmen and new men of the woods, as Europeans and new-made Indians, they contract the vices of both; they adopt the moroseness and ferocity of a native without his mildness, or even his industry at home. If manners are not re- fined, at least they are rendered simple and inoffensive by tilling the earth; all our wants are supplied by it, our time is divided be- tween labor and rest, and leaves none for the commission of great misdeeds. As hunters it is divided between the toil of the chase, the idleness of repose, or the indul- gence of inebriation. Hunting is but a licen- tious idle life, and if it does not always per- vert good dispositions; yet, when it is united with bad luck, it leads to want: want stimu- lates that propensity to rapacity and in- justice, too natural to needy men, which is the fatal gradation. After this explanation of the effects which follow by living in the woods, shall we yet vainly flatter ourselves with the hope of converting the Indians.'' We should rather begin with converting our back-settlers; and now if I dare mention the name of religion, its sweet accents would be lost in the immensity of these woods. Men thus placed are not fit either to receive or remember its mild instructions; they want temples and ministers, but as soon as men cease to remain at home, and begin to lead an erratic life, let them be either tawny or white, they cease to be its disciples. Thus have I faintly and imperfectly en- deavored to trace our society from the sea to our woods! yet you must not imagine that every person who moves back, acts upon the same principles, or falls into the same de- generacy. Many families carry with them all their decency of conduct, purity of morals, and respect of religion; but these are scarce, the power of example is sometimes irresist- ible. Even among these back-settlers, their depravity is greater or less, according to what nation or province they belong. Were I to adduce proofs of this, I might be accused of partiality. If there happens to be some rich intervals, some fertile bottoms, in those remote districts, the people will there prefer tilling the land to hunting, and will attach themselves to it; but even on these fertile spots you may plainly perceive the inhabit- ants to acquire a great degree of rusticity and selfishness. It is in consequence of this straggling situa- tion, and the astonishing power it has on manners, that the back-settlers of both the Carolinas, Virginia, and many other parts, have been long a set of lawless people; it has been even dangerous to travel among them. Government can do nothing in so extensive a country, better it should w4nk at these irregu- larities, than that it should use means incon- sistent w^ith its usual mildness. Time will efface those stains: in proportion as the great body of population approaches them they will reform, and become polished and sub- ordinate. Whatever has been said of the four New England provinces, no such de- generacy of manners has ever tarnished their annals; their back-settlers have been kept wnthin the bounds of decency, and govern- ment, by means of wise laws, and by the influence of religion. What a detestable idea such people must have given to the natives of the Europeans! They trade with them, the worst of people are permitted to do that which none but persons of the best characters should be employed in. They get drunk with them, and often defraud the Indians. Their avarice, removed from the eves of their LETFERS FROM AN AMERICAN FARMER 135 superiors, knows no bounds; and aided by the little superiority of knowledge, these traders deceive them, and even sometimes shed blood. Hence those shockmg viola- tions, those sudden devastations which have so often stained our frontiers, when hundreds of innocent people have been sacrificed for the crimes of a few. It was in consequence of such behavior, that the Indians took the hatchet against the Virginians in 1774. Thus are our first steps trod, thus are our first trees felled, in general, by the most vicious of our people; and thus the path is opened for the arrival of a second and better class, the true American freeholders; the most respectable set of people in this part of the world: re- spectable for their industry, their happy independence, the great share of freedom they possess, the good regulation of their families, and for extending the trade and the dominion of our mother country. Europe contains hardly any other distinc- tions but lords and tenants; this fair country alone is settled by freeholders, the possessors of the soil they cultivate, members of the government they obey, and the framers of their own laws, by means of their representa- tives. This is a thought which you have taught me to cherish; our difference from Europe, far from diminishing, rather adds to our usefulness and consequence as men and subjects. Had our forefathers remained there, they would only have crowded it, and perhaps prolonged those convulsions which had shook it so long. Every industrious European who transports himself here, may be compared to a sprout growing at the foot of a great tree; it enjoys and draws but a little portion of sap; wrench it from the parent roots, transplant it, and it will become a tree bearing fruit also. Colonists are therefore entitled to the consideration due to the most useful subjects; a hundred families barely existing in some parts of Scotland, will here in six years, cause an annual expor- tation of 10,000 bushels of wheat: 100 bushels being but a common quantity for an industrious family to sell, if they cultivate good land. It is here then that the idle may be employed, the useless become useful, and the poor become rich; but by riches I do not mean gold and silver, we have but little of those metals; I mean a better sort of wealth, cleared lands, cattle, good hous^^s, good clothes, and an increase of people to enjoy them. There is no wonder that this country has so many charms, and presents to Europeans so many temptations to remain in it. A trav- eler in Europe becomes a stranger as soon as he quits his own kingdom; but it is other- wise here. We know, properly speaking, no strangers; this is every person's country; the variety of our soils, situations, climates, gov- ernments, and produce, hath something which must please everybody. No sooner does an European arrive, no matter of what condition, than his eyes are opened upon the fair prospect; he hears his language spoke, he retraces many of his own country manners, he perpetually hears the names of families and towns with which he is acquainted; he sees happiness and prosperity in all places disseminated; he meets with hospitality, kindness, and plenty everywhere; he beholds hardly any poor, he seldom hears of punish- ments and executions; and he wonders at the elegance of our towns, those miracles of m- dustry and freedom. He cannot admire enough our rural districts, our convenient roads, good taverns, and our many accom- modations; he involuntarily loves a country where everything is so lovely. When in England, he was a mere Englishman; here he stands on a larger portion of the globe, not less than its fourth part, and may see the productions of the north, in iron and naval stores; the provisions of Ireland, the grain of Egypt, the indigo, the rice of China. He does not find, as in Europe, a crowded society, where every place is over-stocked; he does not feel that perpetual collision of parties, that diflRculty of beginning, that con- tention which oversets so many. There is room for everybody in America; has he any particular talent, or industry.'' he exerts it in order to procure a livelihood, and it succeeds. Is he a merchant.^ the avenues of trade are infinite; is he eminent in any respect.'' he will be employed and respected. Does he love a country life.^ pleasant farms present them- selves; he may purchase what he wants, and thereby become an American farmer. Is he a laborer, sober and industrious? he need not go many miles, nor receive many in- formations before he will be hired, well fed at the table of his employer, and paid four or five times more than he can get in Europe. 136 ST. JOHN DE CRKVECCEUR Does he want uncultivated lands? thousands of acres present themselves, which he may purchase cheap. Whatever he his talents or inclinations, if they are moderate, he may satisfy them. I do not mean that every one who comes will prow rich in a little time; no, but he may procure an easy, decent mainten- ance, by his industry. Instead of starving he will be fed, instead of being idle he will have employment; and these are riches enough for such men as come over here. The rich stay in Europe, it is only the mid- dling and the poor that emigrate. Would you wish to travel in independent idleness, from north to south, you will find easy access, and the most cheerful reception at every house; society without ostentation, good cheer without pride, and every decent diver- sion which the country affords, with little expense. It is no wonder that the European who has lived here a few years, is desirous to remain; Europe with all its pomp, is not to be compared to this continent, for men of middle stations, or laborers. An European, when he first arrives, seems limited in his intentions, as well as in his views; but he very suddenly alters his scale; two hundred miles formerly appeared a very great distance, it is now but a trifle; he no sooner breathes our air than he forms schemes, and embarks in designs he never would have thought of in his own country. There the plenitude of society confines many useful ideas, and often extinguishes the most laudable schemes which here ripen into maturity. Thus Europeans become Ameri- cans. But how is this accomplished in that crowd of low, indigent people, who flock here every year from all parts of Europe.'' I will tell you; they no sooner arrive than they im- mediately feel the good eflPects of that plenty of provisions we possess: they fare on our best food, and they are kindly entertained; their talents, character, and peculiar industry are immediately inquired into; they find countrymen everywhere disseminated, let them come from whatever part of Europe. Let me select one as an epitome of the rest; he is hired, he goes to work, and works moderately; instead of being employed by a haughty person, he finds himself with his equal, placed at the substantial table of the farmer, or else at an inferior one as good; his wages are high, his bed is not like that bed of sorrow on which he used to lie: if he behaves with propriety, and is faithful, he is caressed, and becomes as it were a member of the family. He begins to feel the effects of a sort of resurrection; hitherto he had not lived, but simply vegetated; he now feels himself a man, because he is treated as such; the laws of his own country had overlooked him in his in- significancy; the laws of this cover him with their mantle. Judge what an alteration there must arise in the mind and thoughts of this man; he begins to forget his former servi- tude and dependence, his heart involuntarily swells and glows; this first swell inspires him with those new thoughts which constitute an American. What love can he entertain for a country where his existence was a burthen to him; if he is a generous good man, the love of this new adoptive parent will sink deep into his heart. He looks around, and sees many a prosperous person, who but a few years be- fore was as poor as himself. This encourages him much, he begins to form some little scheme, the first, alas, he ever formed in his life. If he is wise he thus spends two or three years, in which time he acquires knowledge, the use of tools, the modes of working the lands, felling trees, etc. This prepares the foundation of a good name, the most useful acquisition he can make. He is encouraged, he has gained friends; he is advised and directed, he feels bold, he purchases some land; he gives all the money he has brought over, as well as what he has earned, and trusts to the God of harvests for the discharge of the rest. His good name procures him credit. He is now possessed of the deed, con- veying to him and his posterity the fee simple and absolute property of two hundred acres of land, situated on such a river. What an epoch in this man's life! He is become a freeholder, from perhaps a German boor — he is now an American, a Pennsylvanian, an English subject. He is naturalized, his name is enrolled with those of the other citizens of the province. Instead of being a vagrant, he has a place of residence; he is called the inhabitant of such a county, or of such a district, and for the first time in his life counts for something; for hitherto he has been a cypher. I only repeat what I have heard many say, and no wonder their hearts should glow, and be agitated with a multi- LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN FARMER 137 tude of feelings, not easy to describe. From nothing to start into being; from a servant to the rank of a master; from being the slave of some despotic prince, to become a free man, invested with lands, to which every muni- cipal blessing is annexed! What a change indeed! It is in consequence of that change that he becomes an American. This great metamorphosis has a double effect, it extin- guishes all his European prejudices, he for- gets that mechanism of subordination, that servility of disposition which poverty had taught him; and sometimes he is apt to forget too much, often passing from one ex- treme to the other. If he is a good man, he forms schemes of future prosperity, he pro- poses to educate his children better than he has been educated himself; he thinks of future modes of conduct, feels an ardor to labor he never felt before. Pride steps in and leads him to everything that the laws do not forbid: he respects them; with a heart- felt gratitude he looks toward the east, toward that insular government from whose wisdom all his new felicity is derived, and under whose wings and protection he now lives. These reflections constitute him the good man and the good subject. Ye poor Europeans, ye, who sweat, and work for the great — ye, who are obliged to give so many sheaves to the church, so many to your lords, so many to your government, and have hardly any left for yourselves — ye, who are held in less estimation than favorite hunters or useless lap-dogs — ye, who only breathe the air of nature, because it cannot be with- held from you; it is here that ye can conceive the possibility of those feelings I have been describing; it is here the laws of naturaliza- tion invite every one to partake of our great labors and felicity, to till unrented, untaxed lands! Many, corrupted beyond the power of amendment, have brought with them all their vices, and disregarding the advantages held to them, have gone on in their former career of iniquity, until they have been over- taken and punished by our laws. It is not every emigrant who succeeds; no, it is only the sober, the honest, and industrious: happy those to whom this transition has served as a powerful spur to labor, to prosperity, and to the good establishment of children, born in the days of their poverty; and who had no other portion to expect but the rags of their parents, had it not been for their happy emigration. Others again, have been led astray by this enchanting scene; their new pride, instead of leading them to the fields, has kept them in idleness; the idea of possess- ing lands is all that satisfies them — though surrounded with fertility, they have mol- dered away their time in inactivity, misin- formed husbandry, and ineffectual endeav- ors. How much wiser, in general, the honest Germans than almost all other Europeans; they hire themselves to some of their wealthy landsmen, and in that appren- ticeship learn everything that is necessary. They attentively consider the prosperous in- dustry of others, which imprints in their minds a strong desire of possessing the same advantages. This forcible idea never quits them, they launch forth, and by dint of sobriety, rigid parsimony, and the most per- severing industry, they commonly succeed. Their astonishment at their first arrival from Germany is very great — it is to them a dream; the contrast must be powerful indeed; they observe their countrymen flourishing in every place; they travel through whole counties where not a word of English is spoken; and in the names and the language of the people, they retrace Germany. They have been an useful acquisition to this con- tinent, and to Pennsylvania in particular; to them it owes some share of its prosperity: to their mechanical knowledge and patience it owes the finest mills in all America, the best teams of horses, and many other advantages. The recollection of their former poverty and slavery never quits them as long as they live. The Scotch and the Irish might have lived in their own country perhaps as poor, but enjoying more civil advantages, the eflPects of their new situation do not strike them so forcibly, nor has it so lasting an eflPect. From whence the difference arises I know not, but out of twelve families of emigrants of each country, generally seven Scotch will succeed, nine German, and four Irish. The Scotch are frugal and laborious, but their wives cannot work so hard as German women, who on the contrary vie with their husbands, and often share with them the most severe toils of the field, which they understand better. They have therefore nothing to struggle against, but the common 138 ST. JOHN DE CREVECCEUR casualties of nature. I'lie Irish do not prosper so well; they love to drink and to (piarrel; they are litigious, and soon take to tile Run. which is the ruin of everything; they seem beside to labor under a greater degree of ignorance in husbandry than the others; perhaps it is that their industry had less scope, and was less exercised at home. I have heard many relate, how the land w^as parceled out in that kingdom; their ancient conquest has been a great detriment to them, by over-setting their landed property. I he lands possessed by a few, are leased down ad infinitum, and the occupiers often pay five guineas an acre. The poor are worse lodged there than anywhere else in Europe; their potatoes, which are easily raised, are perhaps an inducement to laziness: their wages are too low, and their whisky too cheap. There is no tracing observations of this kind, without making at the same time very great allowances, as there are everywhere to be found a great many exceptions. The Irish themselves, from different parts of that kingdom, are very different. It is difficult to account for this surprising locality, one would think on so small an island an Irish- man must be an Irishman: yet it is not so, they are different in their aptitude to, and in their love of labor. The Scotch on the contrary are all indus- trious and saving; they want nothing more tiian a field to exert themselves in, and they are commonly sure of succeeding. The only difficulty they labor under is, that technical American knowledge which re- quires some time to obtain; it is not easy for those who seldom saw a tree, to conceive how it is to be felled, cut up, and split into rails and posts. As I am fond of seeing and talking of prosperous families, I intend to finish this letter by relating to you the history of an honest Scotch Hebridean,i who came here in 1774, which wdl show you in epitome what the Scotch can do, wherever they have room for the exe.tion of their industry. Whenever I hear of any new settlement, I pay it a visit once or twice a year, on purpose to observe the different steps each settler takes, the gradual improvements, the different tempers of each family, on which their prosperity in a 1 This narrative is not here reprinted. great nature depends; their different modifi- cations of industry, their ingenuity, and con- trivance; for being all poor, their life requires sagacity and prudence. In the evening I love to hear them tell their stories, they furnish me with new ideas; I sit still and listen to their ancient misfortunes, observing in many of them a strong degree of gratitude to God, and the government. Many a well meant sermon have I preached to some of them. When I found laziness and inatten- tion to prevail, who could refrain from wish- ing well to these new countrymen, after hav- ing undergone so many fatigues. Who could withhold good advice? What a happy change it must be, to descend from the high, sterile, bleak lands of Scotland, where every- thing is barren and cold, to rest on some fertile farms in these middle provinces! Such a transition must have afforded the most pleasing satisfaction. The following dialogue passed at an out- settlement, where I lately paid a visit: Well, friend, how do you do now; I am come fifty odd miles on purpose to see you; how do you go on with your new cutting and slashing.'' Very well, good Sir, we learn the use of the ax bravely, we shall make it out; we have a belly full of victuals every day, our cows run about, and come home full of milk, our hogs get fat of themselves in the woods: Oh, this is a good country! God bless the king, and William Penn; we shall do very well by and by, if we keep our healths. Your log-house looks neat and light, where did you get these shingles.? One of our neighbors is a New England man, and he showed us how to split them out of chestnut-trees. Now for a barn, but all in good time, here are fine trees to build with. Who is to frame it, sure you don't understand that work yet? A countryman of ours who has been in America these ten years, offers to wait for his money until the second crop is lodged in it. What did you give for your land? Thirty-five shillings per acre, payable in seven years. How many acres have you got? An hundred and fifty. That is enough to begin with; is not your land pretty hard to clear? Yes, Sir, hard enough, but it would be harder still if it were ready cleared, for then we should have no timber, and I love the woods much; the land is nothing without them. Have not you found out any bees yet? No, Sir; and if we LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN FARMER 139 had we should not know what to do with them. I will tell you by and by. You are very kind. Farewell, honest man, God prosper you; whenever you travel toward , inquire for J. S. He will entertain you kindly, provided you bring him good tidings from your family and farm. — In this manner I often visit them, and carefully examine their houses, their modes of ingenuity, their different ways; and make them all relate all they know, anid describe all they feel. These are scenes which I believe you would willingly share with me. I well remember your philanthropic turn of mind. Is it not better to contemplate under these humble roofs, the rudiments of future wealth and population, than to behold the accumulated bundles of litigious papers in the office of a lawyer? To examine how the world is gradually settled, how the howling swamp is converted into a pleasing meadow, the rough ridge into a fine field; and to hear the cheerful whistling, the rural song, where there was no sound heard before, save the yell of the savage, the screech of the owl, or the hissing of the snake? Here an European, fatigued with luxury, riches, and pleasures, may find a sweet relaxation in a series of interesting scenes, as affecting as they are new. England, v/hich now contains so many domes, so many castles, was once like this; a place woody and marshy; its inhabitants, now the favorite nation for arts and commerce, were once painted like our neighbors. The country will flourish in its turn, and the same observations will be made which I have just delineated. Posterity will look back with avidity and pleasure, to trace, if possible, the era of this or that particular settlement. Pray, what is the reason that the Scots are in general more religious, more faithful, more honest, and industrious than the Irish ? I do not mean to insinuate national reflections, God forbid! It ill becomes any man, and much less an American; but as I know men are nothing of themselves, and that they owe all their difl^'^rent modifications either to government or other local circumstances, there must be some powerful causes which constitute this great national diflPerence. Agreeable to the account which several Scotchmen have given me of the north of Britain, of the Orkneys, and the Hebride Islands, they seem, on many accounts, to be unfit for the habitation of men; they appear to be calculated only for great sheep pastures. Who then can blame the inhabitants of these countries for transporting themselves hither? This great continent must in time absorb the poorest part of Europe; and this will happen in proportion as it becomes better known; and as war, taxation, oppression, and misery increase there. The Hebrides appear to be fit only for the residence of malefactors, and it would be much better to send felons there than either to Virginia or Maryland. What a strange compliment has our mother country paid to two of the finest provinces in Amer- ica! England has entertained in that respect very mistaken ideas; what was intended as a punishment, is become the good fortune of several; many of those who have been trans- ported as felons, are now rich, and strangers to the stings of those wants that urged them to violations of the law: they are become industrious, exemplary, and useful citizens. The English government should purchase the most northern and barren of those islands; it should send over to us the honest, primitive Hebrideans, settle them here on good lands, as a reward for their virtue and ancient poverty; and replace them with a colony of her wicked sons. The severity of the climate, the inclemency of the seasons, the sterility of the soil, the tempestuousness of the sea, would afflict and punish enough. Could there be found a spot better adapted to retaliate the injury it had received by their crimes? Some of those islands might be con- sidered as the hell of Great Britain, where all evil spirits should be sent. Two essential ends would be answered by this simple op- eration. The good people, by emigration, would be rendered happier; the bad ones would be placed where they ought to be. In a few years the dread of being sent to that wintry region would have a much stronger effect than that of transportation. — This is no place of punishment; were I a poor, hope- less, breadless Englishman, and not re- strained by the power of shame, I should be very thankful for the passage. It is of very little importance how, and in what manner an indigent man arrives; for if he is but sober, honest, and industrious, he has nothing more to ask of heaven. Let him go to work, he will have opportunities enough to earn a comfortable support, and even the means of 140 ST. JOHN DE CRftVECCEUR procuring some land; which ought to be the utmost wish of ovitv person who has health and hands to work. I knew a man who came to this country, in the Hteral sense of the expression, stark naked; I think he was a Frenchman, and a sailor on board an English man-of-war. i^eing discontented, he had stripped himself and swam ashore; where, finding clothes and friends, he settled after- wards at Maraneck, in the county of Chester, in the province of New York: he married and left a good farm to each of his sons. I knew another person who was but twelve years old when he was taken on the frontiers of Canada, by the Indians; at his arrival at Albany he was purchased by a gentleman, who generously bound him apprentice to a tailor. He lived to the age of ninety, and left behind him a fine estate and a numerous family, all well settled; many of them I am acquainted with. — Where is then the in- dustrious European who ought to despair."* After a foreigner from any part of Europe is arrived, and become a citizen; let him de- voutly listen to the voice of our great parent, which says to him: "Welcome to my shores, distressed European; bless the hour in which thou didst see my verdant fields, my fair navigable rivers, and my green mountains! — If thou wilt work, I have bread for thee; if thou wilt be honest, sober, and industrious, I have greater rewards to confer on thee — ease and independence. I will give thee fields to feed and clothe thee; a comfortable fireside to sit by, and tell thy children by what means thou hast prospered; and a decent bed to repose on. I shall endow thee beside with the immunities of a freeman. It thou wilt carefully educate thy children, teach them gratitude to God, and reverence to that government, that philanthropic gov- ernment, which has collected here so many men and made them happy. I will also pro- vide for thy progeny; and to every good man this ought to be the most holy, the most powerful, the most earnest wish he can pos- sibly form, as well as the most consolatory prospect when he dies. Go thou and work and till; thou shalt prosper, provided thou be just, grateful, and industrious." THOMAS PAINE (1737-1809) Paine's father was a Quaker who earned a scanty living from a small farm and from a shop in which he followed the trade of stay-making. Thomas was born in Thetford, England, on 29 January, 1737. His formal education was negligible, and when he was thirteen years old he began to learn his father's trade — one which he disliked, and from which he soon tried to escape by going to sea. But a sailor's life apparently proved worse than a stay-maker's, and by 1756 he was in London following that trade, and, at the same time, attending scientific lectures and learning something of mechanics. In this direction he was remarkably apt and, given different circumstances, he might have launched him- self on a career of mechanical invention which would almost certainly have brought him fame, and perhaps wealth. Famous he was to become, but from other activities, and meanwhile he continued a stay-maker until, not long after his marriage in 1759, he failed in the shop which he had set up at Sand- wich. In the following year his wife died. In 1761 he was appointed an exciseman; four years later he was discharged; then, after an interval of school-teaching, he was reappointed, only to be discharged once more in 1774. In the mean time he had gone into the tobacco-trade, and had married again (1771). But the business failed, and in 1774, for unknown reasons, he and his wife formally separated. Thus far his life had been a series of failures, and he was duly prepared to emigrate. Franklin, whom he had come to know, thought with his usual sagacity that Paine might be useful in America; and for America he sailed, with letters from Franklin, in October, 1774. I" Philadelphia he began his career as a man of letters, and discovered in himself those powers of incisive thought and down-right utterance with which presently he was to astonish the colonies. In January, 1776, he published Common Sense. It has been said that George III and Common Sense were the real authors of the Revolution. Almost over night, and almost alone, Paine changed the aims of the colonists from resistance to independence. Justly Common Sense has been described as "one of the most powerful and influential pamphlets ever published in the English language." Paine's biographer (M. D. Conway) estimated that scarcely less than 500,000 copies were sold — an extraordinary number — which can only mean that the pam- phlet's fiery message was read everywhere. And from these sales Paine, though still a poor man, derived no profit, because he gave the profits to the cause he preached. And for that cause he continued to labor whole-heartedly to the end, serving in the army, aiding the Congress, helping to secure money and supplies from France, and, above all, continuing to write. The course of the Revolution was punctuated by successive numbers of The American Crisis — essays in which he wonderfully portrayed the American cause as a consecrated battle of the angels against the forces of evil, essays which again and again put fresh strength and determination into Washington's army and held the revolutionists constant to their purpose. The first Crisis was read to the army just before the Battle of Trenton, and it has been well said that Paine deserves no small share of the credit for the victories which fol- lowed. The opening words of the essay which those soldiers heard may best show the reason: "These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as Freedom should not be highly rated." With the conclusion of the war, Paine's work for America was practically completed. His nature was intensely partisan; once his simple convictions had been reached, he could fight for them with perfect vigor and tenacity; but he understood too little of average human nature to be useful in govern- ment. He could not meet others on their own ground, he could not temporize and patiently undertake half-measures, he was incapable of compromise. Hence there was no place for him in the task of framing the Constitution and welding the colonies into a nation. This he may have recognized. He regarded himself as a citizen, not of any country, but of the world, and perhaps began, with some rea- son, to think of himself as the liberator of mankind. He had for some time been anxious to revisit England; — might he not hope to undermine tyranny there? He sailed for France in 1787, and did not return to America until 1802. Those were eventful years both for Europe and for Paine. He pub- 141 u THOMAS PAINE lislicd Thr fiinhts of Man his answir to Hiitkc's Rrflrctions on the Rrvolution in France— \n 1791 and 17CJ:. lor rhis lu- was prosecuted, and convicted of lihcl. Hut already he was in France— owinp, at least in part, to the sonnii advice of \\ iMiam Blake -and had heen elected a deputy to the Trench Convention. Me remained true, of course, to his repuhlican principles, and, in alliance with the Girond- ists, attempted to carry those principles out mercifully. He attacked the kmg, not the man, and labored bravely to save the life of Louis X\'I. "I'm of the Scotch parson's opinion," he had said, "when he prayed against Louis XIV, 'Lord, shake him over the mouth of hell, but don't let him drop.'" For his eHorts he was thrown into prison, where he suffered from a dangerous illness, and he escaped the guilh)tine only by a lucky accident. It was in these blood-stained years of fanaticism and cruelty, and as a manifesto against French atheism, that he wrote and published The Jge of Reason (1793, 1795). a powerful and perhaps still influential attack upon revealed religion and a confident exposition of deism. .After his return to .America to spend his last years here (he died in New York on 8 January, 1809), Paine's life was embittered by fears of poverty and by defamation and persecution at the hands of those whose independence he had done so much to gain. By The Rights of Man and his vaguely under- stood share in the French Revolution he had aroused the enmity of all those who had grown suspi- cious of or hostile to genuine democracy, and, much worse, by The Age of Reason he had aroused the hatred of orthodo.x Christians everywhere. Atheist, he was called, in days when that was still a ter- rible accusation, and his pious opponents did not scruple to hound him with other malicious lies con- cerning his beliefs, his character, and his manner of life, until they built around him a hideous legend which has persisted almost until our own time. Many unlovely things may truthfully be said about Paine. He had no delicacy, no tact, no personal pride; his mind was not profound; he suffered the limitations of his age — its misplaced confidence in reason, its innocence of historical sense; he was hasty of judgment and self-conceited; and the indictment could be further e.xtended; but, none the less, he was also a brave, unselfish man, who devoted freely his life, his e.xtraordinary talents, and his purse to the cause of human freedom. And to his memory Air'. For as in Adam all sinned, and as in the first electors all men obeyed; as in the one all mankind were subjected to Satan, and in the other to sovereignty; as our innocence was lost in the first, and our authority in the last; and as both disable us from re-assuming some former state and privilege, it unansw^erably follows that original sin and hereditary succession are parallels. Dishonorable rank! inglorious connection! yet the most subtle sophist cannot produce a juster simile. As to usurpation, no man will be so hardy 23 to defend it; and that William the Con- queror was an usurper is a fact not to be contradicted. The plain truth is, that the antiquity of English monarchy will not bear looking into. But it is not so much the absurdity as the evil of hereditary succession which concerns mankind. Did it insure a race of good and wise men it would have the seal of divine authority, but as it opens a door to the joolishy the wicked, and the improper, it hath in it the nature of oppression. Men who look upon themselves born to reign, and others to obey, soon grow insolent. Selected from the rest of mankind, their minds are early poisoned by importance; and the world they act in differs so materially from the world at large, that they have but little opportunity of knowing its true interests, and wh.en they succeed to the government are frequently the most ignorant and unfit of any throughout the dominions. Another evil which attends hereditary succession is that the throne is subject to be possessed by a minor at any age; all which time the regency acting under the cover of a king have every opportunity and inducement to betray their trust. The same national misfortune happens when a king worn out with age and infirmity enters the last stage of human weakness. In both these cases the public becomes a prey to every mis- creant who can tamper successfully with the follies either of age or infancy. The most plausible plea which hath ever been offered in favor of hereditary succession is that it preserves a nation from civil wars; and were this true, it would be weighty; whereas it is the most bare-faced falsity ever imposed upon mankind. The whole history of England disowns the fact. Thirty kings and two minors have reigned in that dis- tracted kingdom since the conquest, in which time there has been (including the revolution!) no less than eight civil wars and nineteen Rebellions. Wherefore instead of making for peace, it makes against it, and destroys the very foundation it seems to stand upon. The contest for monarchy and succession between the houses of York and Lancaster laid England in a scene of blood for many years. Twelve pitched battles besides skir- mishes and sieges were fought between Henry and Edward. Twice was Henry 1 Of i688. COMMON SENSE 149 prisoner to Edward, who in his turn was prisoner to Henry. And so uncertain is the fate of war and the temper of a nation, when nothing but personal matters are the ground of a quarrel, that Henry was taken in tri- umph from a prison to a palace, and Edward obliged to fly from a palace to a foreign land; yet, as sudden transitions of temper are seldom lasting, Henry in his turn was driven from the throne, and Edward re- called to succeed him. The parliament always following the strongest side. This contest began in the reign of Henry the Sixth, and was not entirely extinguished till Henry the Seventh, in whom the families were united. Including a period of 67 years, viz., from 1422 to 1489. In short, monarchy and succession have laid (not this or that kingdom only) but the world in blood and ashes. 'Tis a form of government which the word of God bears testimony against, and blood will attend it. If we inquire into the business of a King, we shall find that in some countries they may have none; and after sauntering away their lives without pleasure to themselves or advantage to the nation, withdraw from the scene, and leave their successors to tread the same idle round. In absolute monarchies the whole weight of business civil and military lies on the King; the chil- dren of Israel in their request for a king urged this plea, "that he may judge us, and go out before us and fight our battles." But in countries where he is neither a Judge nor a General, as in England, a man would be puzzled to know what is his business. The nearer any government approaches to a Republic, the less business there \s for a King. It is somewhat difficult to find a proper name for the government of England. Sir William Meredith calls it a Republic; but in its present state it is unworthy of the name, because the corrupt influence of the Crown, by having all the places in its dis- posal, hath so eflfectually swallowed up the power, and eaten out the virtue of the House of Commons (the Republican part in the constitution), that the government of Eng- land is nearly as monarchical as that of France or Spain. Men fall out with names without understanding them. For 'tis the Republican and not the Monarchical part of the constitution of England which English- men glory in, viz., the liberty of choosing an House of Commons from out of their own body — and it is easy to see that when Re- publican virtues fail, slavery ensues. Why is the constitution of England sickly, but because monarchy hath poisoned the Re- public; the Crown hath engrossed the Commons. In England a King hath little more to do than to make war and give away places; which, in plain terms, is to impoverish the nation and set it together by the ears. A pretty business indeed for a man to be allowed eight hundred thousand sterling a year for, and worshiped into the bargain! Of more worth is one honest man to society, and in the sight of God, than all the crowned ruflfians that ever lived. III. THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT STATE OF AMERICAN AFFAIRS In the following pages I oflFer nothing more than simple facts, plain arguments, and common sense: and have no other pre- liminaries to settle with the reader than that he will divest himself of prejudice and pre- possession, and suffer his reason and his feelings to determine for themselves: that he will put on, or rather that he will not put off, the true character of a man, and gener- ously enlarge his views beyond the present day. Volumes have been written on the subject of the struggle between England and Amer- ica. Men of all ranks have embarked in the controversy, from different motives, and with various designs; but all have been ineffectual, and the period of debate is closed. Arms as the last resource decide the contest; the appeal was the choice of the King, and the Continent has accepted the challenge. It hath been reported of the late Mr. Pelham (who though an able minister was not without his faults) that on his being attacked in the House of Commons on the score that his measures were only of a temporary kind, replied, 'Uhey will last my time.'' Should a thought so fatal and un- manly possess the Colonies in the present contest, the name of ancestors will be re- membered by future generations with detestation. The Sun never shined on a cause of greater ISO THOMAS PAINE worth. 'Tis not the affair of a City, a County, a Province, or a Kingdom; but of a Continent— of at least one eighth part of the habitable Globe. 'Tis not the concern of a day, a year, or an age; posterity are virtually involved in the contest, and will be more or less affected even to the end of time, by the proceedings now. Now is the seed-time of Continental union, faith, and honor. The least fracture now will be like a name engraved with the point of a pin on the tender rind of a young oak; the wound would enlarge with the tree, and posterity read it in full grown characters. By referring the matter from argument to arms, a new era for politics is struck — a new method of thinking hath arisen. All plans, proposals, etc., prior to the nineteenth of April, i. In 1775, at Lexington. milk, that it is never to have meat, or that the first twenty years of our lives is to become a precedent for the next twenty. But even tiiis is admitting more than is true; for I answer roundly, that America would have flourished as much, and probably much more, had no European power taken any notice of her. The commerce by which she hath enriched herself are the necessaries of life, and will always have a market while eating is the custom of Europe. But she has protected us, say some. That she hath engrossed us is true, and defended the Continent at our expense as well as her own, is admitted; and she would have defended Turkey from the same motive, viz.y for the sake of trade and dominion. Alas! we have been long led away by ancient prejudices and made large sacrifices to superstition. We have boasted the pro- tection of Great Britain, without considering that her motive was interest not attachment; and that she did not protect us from our enemies on our account; but from her enemies on her own account, from those who had no quarrel with us on any other account, and who will always be our enemies on the same account. Let Britain waive her pretensions to the Continent, or the Continent throw off the dependence, and we should be at peace with France and Spain, were they at war with Britain. The miseries of Hanover last war ought to warn us against connec- tions. It hath lately been asserted in parliament that the Colonies have no relation to each other but through the Parent Country, i. e., that Pennsylvania and the Jerseys, and so on for the rest, are sister Colonies by the way of England; this is certainly a very roundabout way of proving relationship, but it is the nearest and only true way of proving enmity — or enemyship, if I may so call it. France and Spain never were, nor perhaps ever will be, our enemies as Ameri- cans, but as our being the subjects of Great Britain. But Britain is the parent country, say some. Then the more shame upon her conduct. Even brutes do not devour their young, nor savages make war upon their families; wherefore, the assertion, if true, turns to her reproach; but it happens not to be true, or only partly so, and the phrase COMMON SENSE 151 parent or mother country hath been jesuitically adopted by the King and his parasites, with a low papistical design of gaining an unfair bias on the credulous weakness of our minds. Europe, and not England, is the parent country of America. 1 his new World hath been the asylum for the persecuted lovers of civil and religious liberty from every part of Europe. Hither have they fled, not from the tender embraces of the mother, but from the cruelty of the monster; and it is so far true of England, that the same tyranny which drove the first emigrants from home, pursues their descendants still. In this extensive quarter of the globe, we forget the narrow limits of three hundred and sixty miles (the extent of England) and carry our friendship on a larger scale; we claim brotherhood with every European Christian, and triumph in the generosity of the sentiment. It is pleasant to observe by what regular gradations we surmount the force of local prejudices, as we enlarge our acquaintance with the World. A man born in any town in England divided into parishes, will naturally associate most with his fellow parishioners (because their interests in many cases will be common) and distinguish him by the name of neighbor; if he meet him but a few miles from home, he drops the narrow idea of a street, and salutes him by the name of townsman; if he travel out of the county and meet him in any other, he forgets the minor divisions of street and town, and calls him country many i. e.y countyman: but if in their foreign excursions they should associate in Erance, or any other part of Europe, their local remembrance would be enlarged into that of Englishmen. And by a just parity of reasoning, all Europeans meeting in America, or any other quarter of the globe, are countrymen; for England, Holland, Germany, or Sweden, when compared with the whole, stand in the same places on the larger scale, which the divisions of street, town, and county do on the smaller ones; distinctions too limited for Continental minds. Not one third of the inhabitants, even of this province [Pennsylvania], are of English descent. Vv'^herefore, I reprobate the phrase of Parent or Mother Country applied to England only, as being false, selfish, narrow, and ungenerous. Hut, admitting that we were all of English descent, what does it amount to? Nothing. Britain, being now an open enemy, extin- guishes every other name and title: and to say that reconciliation is our duty, is truly farcical. The first king of England, of the present line (William the Conqueror) was a Frenchman, and half the peers of England are descendants from the same country; wherefore, by the same method of reasoning, England ought to be governed by France. Much hath been said of the united strength of Britain and the Colonies, that in conjunc- tion they might bid defiance to the world: But this is mere presumption; the fate of war is uncertain, neither do the expressions mean any thing; for this continent would never suffer itself to be drained of inhabit- ants, to support the British arms in either Asia, Africa, or Europe. Besides, what have we to do with setting the world at defiance? Our plan is com- merce, and that, well attended to, will secure us the peace and friendship of all Europe; because it is the interest of all Europe to have America a free port. Her trade will always be a protection, and her barrenness of gold and silver secure her from invaders. 1 I challenge the warmest advocate for reconciliation to show a single advantage that this continent can reap by being con- nected with Great Britain. I repeat the challenge; not a single advantage is de- rived. Our corn will fetch its price in any market in Europe, and our imported goods must be paid for, buy them where we will. But the injuries and disadvantages which we sustain by that connection are without number; and our duty to mankind at large, as well as to ourselves, instruct us to re- nounce the alliance: because, any submission to, or dependence on. Great Britain, tends directly to involve this Continent in Euro- pean wars and quarrels, and set us at variance with nations who would otherwise seek our friendship, and against whom we have neither anger nor complaint. As Europe is 1 Paine and Jefferson were not only friends, but very similar to each other in much of their political thought. Here, in a paragraph, is the key to the foreign policy which Jefferson later sought to pursue. And every- thing in this and the immediately following paragraphs Jefferson not only might have said, but did later say. 1^2 THOMAS PAINE our market (or trade, we oupht to form no partial connection with any part of it. It is the true interest of America to steer clear of Kiiropean contentions, which she never can do while, by her dependence on Britain, she is made the makeweight in the scale of liritish politics. Europe is too thickly planted with King- doms to be long at peace, and v/henever a war breaks out between England and any foreign power, the trade of America goes to ruin, because of her comiection zvith Britain. The next war may not turn out like the last, and should it not, the advocates for recon- ciliation now will be wishing for separation then, because neutrality in that case would be a safer convoy than a man of war. Every- thing that is right or reasonable pleads for separation. The blood of the slain, the weeping voice of nature cries, 'Tis time to PART. Even the distance at which the Almighty hath placed England and America is a strong and natural proof that the author- ity of the one over the other was never the design of Heaven. The time likewise at which the Continent was discovered, adds weight to the argument, and the manner in which it was peopled increases the force of it. The Reformation was preceded by the dis- covery of America: As if the Almighty gra- ciously meant to open a sanctuary to the persecuted in future years, when home should afford neither friendship nor safety. The authority of Great Britain over this continent is a form of government which, sooner or later, must have an end: And a serious mind can draw no true pleasure by looking forward, under the painful and positive conviction that what he calls "the present constitution" is merely temporary. As parents, we can have no joy, knowing that this government is not sufficiently last- ing to insure any thing which we may bequeath to posterity: And by a plain method of argument, as we are running the next generation into debt, we ought to do the work of it, otherwise we use them meanly and pitifully. In order to discover the line of our duty rightly, we should take our children in our hand, and fix our station a few years farther into life; that eminence will present a prospect which a few present fears and prejudices conceal from our sight. Though I would carefully avoid giving un- necessary offense, yet I am inclined to believe that all those who espouse the doctrine of reconciliation may be included within the following descriptions: Interested men, who are not to be trusted, weak men who cannot see, prejudiced men who will not see, and a certain set of moder- ate men who think better of the European world than it deserves; and this last class, by an ill-judged deliberation, will be the cause of more calamities to this Continent than all the other three. It is the good fortune of many to live distant from the scene of present sorrow; the evil is not sufficiently brought to their doors to make them feel the precariousness with which all American property is pos- sessed. But let our imaginations transport us a few moments to Boston; that seat of wretchedness will teach us wisdom, and instruct us for ever to renounce a power in whom we can have no trust. The inhabit- ants of that unfortunate city who but a few months ago were in ease and affluence, have now no other alternative than to stay and starve, or turn out to beg. Endangered by the fire of their friends if they continue within the city, and plundered by the soldiery if they leave it, in their present situation they are prisoners without the hope of redemption, and in a general attack for their relief they would be exposed to the fury of both armies. Men of passive tempers look somewhat lightly over the offenses of Great Britain, and, still hoping for the best, are apt to call out, Carney come, we shall he Jriends again for all this. But examine the passions and feelings of mankind: bring the doctrine of reconciliation to the touchstone of nature, and then tell me whether you can hereafter love, honor, and faithfully serve the power that hath carried fire and sword into your land.'' If you cannot do all these, then are you only deceiving yourselves, and by your delay bringing ruin upon posterity. Your future connection with Britain, whom you can neither love nor honor, will be forced and unnatural, and being formed only on the plan of present convenience, will in a little time fall into a relapse more wretched than the first. But if you say, you can still pass the violations over, then I ask, hath your house been burned.'' Hath your prop- COMMON SENSE 153 erty been destroyed before your face? Are your wife and children destitute of a bed to lie on, or bread to live on? Have you lost a parent or a child by their hands, and your- self the ruined and wretched survivor? If you have not, then are you not a judp;e of those who have. But if you have, and can still shake hands with the murderers, then are you unworthy the name of husband, father, friend, or lover, and whatever may be your rank or title in life, you have the heart of a coward, and the spirit of a syco- phant. This is not inflaming or exaggerating matters, but trying them by those feelings and affections which nature justifies, and without w^hich we should be incapable of discharging the social duties of life, or enjoying the felicities of it. I mean not to exhibit horror for the purpose of provoking revenge, but to awaken us from fatal and unmanly slumbers, that we may pursue determinately some fixed object. 'Tis not in the power of Britain or of Europe to conquer America, if she doth not conquer herself by delay and timidity. The present winter is worth an age if rightly employed, but if lost or neglected the whole Continent will partake of the misfortune; and there is no punishment which that man doth not deserve, be he who, or what, or where he will, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious and useful, 'Tis repugnant to reason, to the universal order of things, to all examples from former ages, to suppose that this Continent can long remain subject to any external power. The most sanguine in Britain doth not think so. The utmost stretch of human wisdom cannot, at this time, compass a plan, short of separation, which can promise the continent even a year's security. Recon- ciliation is nozv a fallacious dream. Nature hath deserted the connection, and art cannot supply her place. For, as Milton wisely expresses, "never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep." Every quiet method for peace hath been ineffectual. Our prayers have been re- jected with disdain; and hath tended to convince us that nothing flatters vanity or confirms obstinacy in Kings more than repeated petitioning — and nothing hath contributed more than that very measure to make the Kings of Europe absolute. Witness Denmark and Sweden. Wherefore, since nothing but blows will do, for God's sake let us come to a final separation, and not leave the next generation to be cuttmg throats under the violated unmeaning names of parent and child. To say they will never attempt it again is idle and visionary; we thought so at the repeal of the stamp act, yet a year or two undeceived us; as well may we suppose that nations which have been once defeated will never renew the quarrel. As to government matters, 'tis not in the power of Britain to do this continent justice: the business of it will soon be too weighty and intricate to be managed with any toler- able degree of convenience by a power so distant from us, and so very ignorant of us; for if they cannot conquer us, they cannot govern us. To be always running three or four thousand miles with a tale or a petition, waiting four or five months for an answer, which, when obtained, requires five or six more to explain it in, will in a few years be looked upon as folly and childishness. There was a time when it was proper, and there is a proper time for it to cease. Small islands not capable of protecting themselves are the proper objects for govern- ment^ to take under their care; but there is something absurd in supposing a Continent to be perpetually governed by an island. In no instance hath nature made the satellite larger than its primary planet; and as Eng- land and America, with respect to each other, reverse the common order of nature, it is evident that they belong to different systems. England to Europe: America to itself. I am not induced by motives of pride, party, or resentment to espouse the doctrine of separation and independence; I am clearly, positively, and conscientiously per- suaded that it is the true interest of this Continent to be so; that everything short of that is mere patchwork, that it can afford no lasting felicity — that it is leaving the sword to our children, and shrinking back at a time when a little more, a little further, would have rendered this Continent the glory of the earth. 1 In some later editions "kingdoms." (Conway.) »54 rilOMAS PAINK As Hrit;iiii h;itli not m;mittstc'cl tlic least inclination towards a compromise, we may be assured that no terms can be obtained worthy the acceptance of the Continent, or any ways eciual to tlie expense of blood and treasure we have been already put to. The object contended for ought always to bear some just proportion to the expense. The removal of North, or the whole detest- able junto, is a matter unworthy the millions we have expended. A temporary stoppage of trade was an inconvenience, which would have sufficiently balanced the repeal of all the acts complained of, had such repeals been obtained; but if the whole Continent must take up arms, if every man must be a soldier, 'tis scarcely worth our while to fight against a contemptible ministry only. Dearly, dearly do we pay for the repeal of the acts, if that is all we fight for; for, in a just estimation, 'tis as great a folly to pay a Hunker-hill price for law as for land. As I have always considered the independency of this continent as an event which sooner or later must arrive, so from the late rapid progress of the Continent to maturity, the event cannot be far off. Wherefore, on the breaking out of hostilities, it was not worth the while to have disputed a matter which time would have finally redressed, unless we meant to be in earnest: otherwise it is like wasting an estate on a suit at law, to regulate the trespasses of a tenant whose lease is just expiring. No man was a warmer wisher for a reconciliation than myself, before the fatal nineteenth of April, 1775, but the moment the event of that day was made known, I rejected the hardened, sullen- tempered Pharaoh of England for ever; and disdain the wretch, that with the pretended title of Father of his people can unfeel- ingly hear of their slaughter, and com- posedly sleep with their blood upon his soul. But admitting that matters were now made up, what would be the event.'' I answer, the ruin of the Continent. And that for several reasons. First. The powers of governing still re- maining in the hands of the King, he will have a negative over the whole legislation of this Continent. And as he hath shown himself such an inveterate enemy to liberty, and discovered such a thirst for arbitrary power, is he, or is he not, a proper person to say to these colonies. You shall make no laws but what I please!? And is there any inhabi- tant of America so ignorant as not to know that, according to what is called the present constitutioiiy this Continent can make no laws but what the king gives leave to; and is there any man so unwise as not to see that (considering what has happened) he will suffer no law to be made here but such as suits his purpose.'' We may be as effectually enslaved by the want of laws in America, as by submitting to laws made for us in Eng- land. After matters are made up (as it is called) can there be any doubt, but the w^hole power of the crown will be exerted to keep this continent as low and humble as possible.'' Instead of going forward we shall go backward, or be perpetually quarreling, or ridiculously petitioning. We are already greater than the King wishes us to be, and will he not hereafter endeavor to make us less.^ To bring the matter to one point. Is the powder who is jealous of our prosperity, a proper power to govern us? Whoever says No, to this question, is an Independent, for independency means no more than this, whether we shall make our own laws, or, whether the King, the greatest enemy this continent hath, or can have, shall tell us there shall be no laws but such as I like. But the King, you will say, has a negative in England; the people there can make no laws without his consent. In point of right and good order, it is something very ridicu- lous that a youth of twenty-one (which hath often happened) shall say to several millions of people older and wiser than himself, "I forbid this or that act of yours to be law." But in this place I decline this sort of reply, though I will never cease to expose the absurdity of it, and only answer that England being the King's residence, and America not so, makes quite another case. The King's negative here is ten times more dangerous and fatal than it can be in England; for there he will scarcely refuse his consent to a bill for putting England into as strong a state of defense as possible, and in America he would never suffer such a bill to be passed. America is only a secondary object in the system of British politics. England consults the good of this country no further than it answers her own purpose. Wherefore, her own interest leads her to suppress the growth COMMON SENSE 155 of ours in every case which doth not promote her advantage, or in the least interferes with it. A pretty state we sliould soon be in under such a second-hand government, considering what has happened! Men do not change from enemies to friends by the alteration of a name: And in order to show that reconciliation now is a dangerous doctrine, I affirm, that it would be policy i7i the King at this time to repeal the acts, for the sake of reinstating himself in the government of the provinces; In order that he may ACCOMPLISH BY CRAFT AND SUBTLETY, IN THE LONG RUN, WHAT HE CANNOT DO BY FORCE AND VIOLENCE IN THE SHORT ONE. Reconciliation and ruin are nearly related. Secondly. That as even the best terms which we can expect to obtain can amount to no more than a temporary expedient, or a kind of government by guardianship, which can last no longer than till the Colonies come of age, so the general face and state of things in the interim will be unsettled and unpromising. Emigrants of property will not choose to come to a country whose form of government hangs but by a thread, and who is every day tottering on the brink of commotion and disturbance; and numbers of the present inhabitants would lay hold of the interval to dispose of their effects, and quit the Continent. But the most powerful of all arguments is, that nothing but independence, i. e.y a Continental form of government, can keep the peace of the Continent and preserve it inviolate from civil wars. I dread the event of a reconciliation with Britain now, as it is more than probable that it will be followed by a revolt some where or other, the conse- quences of which may be far more fatal than all the malice of Britain. Thousands are already ruined by British barbarity; thousands more will probably suffer the same fate. Those men have other feelings than us who have nothing suffered. All they now possess is liberty; what they before enjoyed is sacrificed to its service, and, having nothing more to lose, they disdain submission. Besides, the general temper of the Colonies towards a British government will be like that of a youth who is nearly out of his time; they will care very little about her: And a government which cannot preserve the peace is no government at all, and in that case we pay our money for nothing; and pray what is it that Britain can do, whose power will be wholly on paper, should a civil tumult break out the very day after reconciliation? I have heard some men say, many of whom I believe spoke without thinking, that they dreaded an independence, fearing that it would produce civil wars: It is but seldom that our first thoughts are truly correct, and that is the case here; for there is ten times more to dread from a patched up connection than from independence. I make the sufferer's case my own, and I protest, that were I driven from house and home, my property destroyed, and my circumstances ruined, that as a man, sensible of injuries, I could never relish the doctrine of reconciliation, or consider myself bound thereby. The Colonies have manifested such a spirit of good order and obedience to Conti- nental government, as is sufficient to make every reasonable person easy and happy on that head. No man can assign the least pretense for his fears, on any other grounds, than such as are truly childish and ridiculous, viz.., that one colony will be striving for superiority over another. Where there are no distinctions there can be no superiority; perfect equality affords no temptation. The Republics of Europe are all (and we may say always) in peace. Holland and Switzerland are without wars, foreign or domestic: Monarchical govern- ments, it is true, are never long at rest: the crown itself is a temptation to enterprising ruffians at home; and that degree of pride and insolence ever attendant on regal authority, swells into a rupture with foreign powers in instances where a republican gov- . ernment, by being formed on more natural principles, would negotiate the mistake. If there is any true cause of fear respecting independence, it is because no plan is yet laid down. Men do not see their way out. Wherefore, as an opening into that business, I offer the following hints; at the same time modestly affirming that I have no other opinion of them myself, than that they may be the means of giving rise to some- thing better. Could the straggling thoughts of individuals be collected, they would fre- quently form materials for wise and able men to improve into useful matter. 156 THOMAS PAINE Let the assemblies be nnniinl, with a presi- dent only. 1 be representation more equal, their business wholly domestic, and subject to the authority of a Continental Congress. Let each Colony be divided into six, eight, or ten, convenient districts, each district to send a proper number of Delegates to Congress, so that each Colony send at least thirty. The whole number in Congress will be at least 390. Each congress to sit and to choose a President by the following method. When the Delegates are met, let a Colony be taken from the whole thirteen Colonies by lot, after which let the Congress choose (by ballot) a president from out of the Delegates of that Province. In the next Congress, let a Colony be taken by lot from twelve only, omitting that Colony from which the president was taken in the former Congress, and so proceeding on till the whole thirteen shall have had their proper rotation. And in order that nothing may pass into a law but what is satisfactorily just, not less than three-fifths of the Con- gress to be called a majority. He that will promote discord, under a government so equally formed as this, would have joined Lucifer in his revolt. But as there is a peculiar delicacy from whom, or in what manner, this business must first arise, and as it seems most agree- able and consistent that it should come from some intermediate body between the gov- erned and the governors, that is, between the Congress and the People, let a Conti- nental Conference be held in the following manner, and for the following purpose: A Committee of twenty-six members of congress, t'zV., Two for each Colony. Two Members from each House of Assembly, or Provincial Convention; and five Representa- tives of the people at large, to be chosen in the capital city or town of each Province, for, and in behalf of the whole Province, by as many qualified voters as shall think proper to attend from all parts of the Prov- ince for that purpose; or, if more convenient, the Representatives may be chosen in two or three of the most populous parts thereof. In this conference, thus assembled, will be united the two grand principles of business, knozvledge and power. The Members of Congress, Assemblies, or Conventions, by having had experience in national concerns, will be able and useful counselors, and the whole, being empowered by the people, vv^ill have a truly legal authority. The conferring members being met, let their business be to frame a Continental Charter, or Charter of the United Colonies (answering to what is called the Magna Charta of England), fixing the number and manner of choosing Members of Congress, Members of Assembly, with their date of sitting; and drawing the line of business and jurisdiction between them: Always re- membering, that our strength is Continental, not Provincial. Securing freedom and prop- erty to all men, and above all things, the free exercise of religion, according to the dictates of conscience; with such other matter as it is necessary for a charter to contain. Immediately after which, the said conference to dissolve, and the bodies which shall be chosen conformable to the said charter, to be the Legislators and Governors of this Continent for the time being: Whose peace and happiness, may God preserve. Amen. Should any body of men be hereafter delegated for this or some similar purpose. I offer them the following extracts from that wise observer on Governments, Dragonetti. "The science," says he, "of the Politician consists in fixing the true point of happiness and freedom. Those men would deserve the gratitude of ages, who should discover a mode of government that contained the greatest sum of individual happiness, with the least national expense." (Dragonetti on Virtues and Rezvard.) But where, say some, is the King of America? I'll tell you, friend, he reigns above, and doth not make havoc of mankind like the Royal Brute of Great Britain. ^ Yet that we may not appear to be defective even in earthly honors, let a day be solemnly set apart for proclaiming the Charter; let it be brought forth placed on the Divine Law, the Word of God; let a crown be placed thereon, by which the world may know, that so far 1 Common Sense was published anonymously be- cause, as Paine said in a prefatory note to the third edition, "the Object for Attention is the Doctrine itself , not the Man." At first it was commonly thought that Franklin was the author, and a lady reproached him for this reference to the British sovereign, to which Franklin replied that had he been indeed the author he would not so have insulted the brute creation. COMMON SENSE 157 as we approve of monarchy, that in America the law is king. For as in absolute govern- ments the King is law, so in free countries the law ought to be king; and there ought to be no other. But lest any ill use should afterwards arise, let the Crown at the con- clusion of the ceremony be demolished, and scattered among the people whose right it is. A government of our own is our natural right: and when a man seriously reflects on the precariousness of human affairs, he will become convinced that it is infinitely wiser and safer to form a constitution of our own in a cool deliberate manner, while we have it in our power, than to trust such an interest- ing event to time and chance. If we omit it now, some Massanello^ may hereafter arise, who, laying hold of popular dis- quietudes, may collect together the desperate and the discontented, and by assuming to themselves the powers of government, finally sweep away the liberties of the Continent like a deluge. Should the government of America return again into the hands of Britain, the tottering situation of things will be a temptation for some desperate adven- turer to try his fortune; and in such a case, what relief can Britain give.'' Ere she could hear the news, the fatal business might be done; and ourselves suffering like the wretched Britons under the oppression of the Conqueror. Ye that oppose independ- ence now, ye know not what ye do: ye are opening a door to eternal tyranny, by keep- ing vacant the seat of government. There are thousands and tens of thousands, who would think it glorious to expel from the Continent that barbarous and hellish power, which hath stirred up the Indians and the Negroes to destroy us; the cruelty hath a double guilt, it is dealing brutally by us, and treacherously by them. 1 Thomas Anello, otherwise Massanello, a fisherman of Naples, who after spiriting up his countrymen in the public market place against the oppression of the Spaniards, to whom the place was then subject, prompted them to revolt, and in the space of a day became King. (Paine's note.) To talk of friendship with those in whom our reason forbids us to have faith, and our affections wounded through a thousand pores instruct us to detest, is madness and folly. Every day wears out the little re- mains of kindred between us and them; and can there be any reason to hope, that as the relationship expires, the affection will in- crease, or that we shall agree better when we have ten times more and greater concerns to quarrel over than ever? Ye that tell us of harmony and reconcilia- tion, can ye restore to us the time that is past.^* Can ye give to prostitution its former innocence.'' neither can ye reconcile Britain and America. The last cord now is broken, the people of England are present- ing addresses against us. There are injuries which nature cannot forgive; she would cease to be nature if she did. As well can the lover forgive the ravisher of his mistress, as the Continent forgive the murders of Britain. The Almighty hath implanted in us these unextinguishable feelings for good and wise purposes. They are the Guardians of his Image in our hearts. They distinguish us from the herd of common animals. The social compact would dissolve, and justice be extirpated from the earth, or have only a casual existence, were we callous to the touches of affection. The robber and the murderer would often escape unpunished, did not the injuries which our tempers sustain provoke us into justice. O! ye that love mankind! Ye that dare oppose not only the tyranny but the tyrant, stand forth! Every spot of the old world is overrun with oppression. Freedom hath been hunted round the Globe. Asia and Africa have long expelled her. Europe regards her like a stranger, and England hath given her warning to depart. O! receive the fugitive, and prepare in time an asylum for mankind. 2 2 There is a fourth section, entitled Of the Present Ability of America, with some Miscellaneous Reflections, which is here omitted. Paine also added an Appendix to later editions. THOMAS JEFFERSON (1743-1826) Jefferson was born on 13 April, 1743, at his father's farm-house on the north hank of the Rivanna a few miles from Charlottesville, Virginia. His father died when he was fourteen years old, and left iiim, with a fair fortune, virtually free to determine his own course in life. He proceeded with the sound education which his father had designed him to have, and, after a few more years of work wkh a good classical scholar, entered William and Mary College (1760). Williamsburg was then the capi- tal city, or rather village, of Virginia, and offered many opportunities for distraction and dissipation, but Jefferson was fortunately thrown with a few cultured and talented men, who did much to make jiim a close and capable student, devoted to the reading and collecting of books. In later life he owned what was probably the largest and most valuable private library then in America; — about 2,000 vol- umes of which (rather less than one-fifth) may now be seen in the Library of Congress. After two years at the College, Jefferson proceeded to study the law under George Wythe, and was admitted to the bar in 1767. He found himself almost at once with a good practice, which kept him busy until, as he says, "the Revolution shut up the Courts of Justice." From the beginning of active trouble with England he assumed a position of prominence in Virginia as an advocate of the rights of the colonists, and he was made a delegate to the Second Continental Congress, where his ability was at once recog- nized and his influence strongly felt. He was again sent to the following session, in the course of which it fell to him to draft the Declaration of Independence. In the fall of 1776 he withdrew from the Con- gress to become a member of the Virginia House of Representatives, where he succeeded in reforming the legal procedure and laws of the state, and in abolishing primogeniture. He was unsuccessful in his attempt to provide a system of public education and a public library, and in his effort to eman- cipate the slaves, but he succeeded in modifying the state-support of the Episcopal Church, and so paved the way for disestablishment in 1779, and for the adoption of his bill for complete religious free- dom in 1786. This bill — the first of its kind ever enacted by a popular legislature — would of itself suffice to give Jefferson immortality in the annals of human liberty. From June, 1779, until June, 1781, Jefferson was the war-time Governor of Virginia. During the remainder of that year and in the following year he wrote his only book, Notes on Virginia (first printed in Paris, 1784). In September, 1782, he was saddened by the death of his wife (he had mar- ried Martha Skelton in 1772). During the months of her illness he had been unwilling to leave her, and had refused several urgent demands upon him for public service. But now he was, perhaps, anx- ious to be busy, and he soon became a member of the Congress. In 1784 he was appointed a Minister Plenipotentiary to help Franklin and John Adams effect commercial agreements with European nations. The mission was on the whole unsuccessful, but Jefferson remained in Paris (in 1785 succeeding Frank- lin as Minister) until the fall of 1789, and so witnessed the beginnings of the French Revolution. Immediately upon his arrival in America, Washington appointed him Secretary of State — a post which he held with an increasing sense of difficulty as party conflicts began to develop, and which he resigned at the end of four years. From 1797 until 1801 he was Vice President of the United States, and from 1801 until 1809 President. Then from his retirement at Monticello he observed the administrations of two close friends and fellow-Republicans who followed him in the presidency, Madison (1809-1817) and Monroe (1817-1825). During these years his vast correspondence, the entertainment of an unceasing stream of visitors, and the management of his estates occupied the greater part of his time, but he also found it possible to revive his long-cherished plan of founding a university for Virginia, and succeeded in establishing the institution while there was yet time for him to impress his ideas and standards upon it during its earliest years. This cost him much effort, much diplomatic negotiation, and some money, the last of which he could ill afford, as he was embarrassed by heavy debts in the last years of his life. He died on 4 July, 1826. John Adams, who, by a strange coincidence, died a few hours later on the same day, had once remarked upon "the curious felicity of expression" which distinguished Jefferson's writings. His praise was just, though its justice has not always been recognized. For this there are reasons both good and bad— too many to be summarized here. But this may be said: The literary excellence of such pieces as the Declaration and the Character of IVashington cannot be disputed. They need no bolstering praise, and they make one feel that there must be fit companion-pieces concealed in the 158 THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE 159 voluminous mass of their author's writinjis. But if a search be undertaken it is likely to bring disap- pointment. It will meet with its reward, but one purchased not without difficulty. In this Jeffer- son's writings are curiously like the man himself, as is aptly shown by the impression of him which Senator Maclay recorded after his appearance in 1790 before a committee of the Senate: "Jefferson is a slender man; has rather the air of stiffness in his manner. His clothes seem too small for him. He sits in a lounging manner, on one hip commonly, and with one of his shoulders elevated much above the other. His face has a sunny aspect. His whole figure has a loose, shackling air. He had a ram- bling, vacant look, and nothing of that firm collected deportment which I expected would dignify the presence of a secretary or minister. I looked for gravity, but a laxity of manner seemed shed about him. He spoke almost without ceasing; but even his discourse partook of his personal demeanor. It was loose and rambling; and yet he scattered information wherever he went, and some even bril- liant sentiments sparkled from him." The truth is that Jtfferson rose to greatness as a man of letters in only a very few of his com- positions, and yet that hints of his powers are scattered widely in them. Moreover, the man himself and his ideas are of the utmost significance in our intellectual and literary history, and the labor spent in coming to know both is well spent. In his political opinions Jefferson was a follower of English thinkers of the seventeenth century. Probably he learned something from James Harrington's Oceania; certainly he learned much from Algernon Sydney and John Locke. He deeply hated tyranny and all the outward symbols of power; he was confident of the fundamental integrity of average human nature, and felt that at least the great majority of men would always think and act reasonably if only they were sufficiently trusted. Like Franklin and other contemporaries, he was a believer in the progress of the race, and confessed that he "liked the dreams of the future better than the history of the past." Yet he was no doctrinaire, but showed himself a practical statesman in his readiness to compromise wnth abstract principle whenever the concrete situations before him made that demand. THE UNANIMOUS DECLARATION OF THE THIRTEEN UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,^ When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation. We hold these truths to be self-evident: 1 On II June, 1776, the Continental Congress ap- pointed Jefferson, John Adams, Franklin, Roger Sher- man, and Robert R. Livingston a committee to draft a declaration of the colonies' independence. The other members asked Jefferson to undertake the task, and he consented. The resulting Declaration is here printed in the form in which the committee submitted it to the Congress — i.e., substantially as Jefferson wrote it, but embodying two small verbal changes made by Adams and five made by Franklin. In addition, it embodies nineteen changes (including three new para- graphs) made by Jefferson in revising his first rough draft. It is probable, though not certain, that Adams and Franklin suggested some of these changes. The portions of Jefferson's Declaration which the Congress struck out are printed in italic letters, and substituted words inserted by the Congress are given in footnotes. Thus the Declaration as finally adopted can be read by omitting all italicized words and including those in the footnotes. that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with inherent and inalienable'^ rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the gov- erned; that whenever any form of govern- ment becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new go%^ernment, laying its foundation on such principles, and or- ganizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dic- tate that governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, begun at a distinguished period and pursuing in- variably the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. Such has been the patient sufferance of these colonies, 2 certain unalienable. i6o HOMAS JEFFERSON and such is now the necessity which con- strains them to rxpungf^ their former sys- tems of ^oNcrnment. The history of the present King of (Jreat Britain is a history of unremitting- injuries and usurpations, among which appears no solitary fact to contradict the uniform tenor of the rest, but all have^ in direct object the estabhshment of an abso- lute tyranny over these states. lo prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world, for the truth of which we pledge a faith yet unsullied by falsehood. He has refused his assent to laws the most wholesome and necessary for the public good. He has forbidden his governors to pass laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his assent should be obtained; and, when so suspended, he has neglected utterly'^ to attend to them. He has refused to pass other laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of representation in the legislature; a right inestimable to them, and formidable to tyrants only. He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures. He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly and continually for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people. He has refused for a long time after such dissolutions to cause others to be elected, whereby the legislative powers, incapable of annihilation, have returned to the people at large for their exercise, the state remaining in the meantime exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without and convulsions within. He has endeavored to prevent the popula- tion of these states; for that purpose ob- structing the laws for naturalization of foreigners, refusing to pass others to encour- age their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new appropriations of lands. > alter. * repeated. ' having. * utterly neglected. He has suffered^ the administration of justice totally to cease in some of these states,^ refusing his assent to laws for establishing judiciary powers. He has made our judges dependent on his will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries. He has erected a multitude of new offices by a self-assumed power^ and sent hither swarms of new officers to harass our people and eat out their substance. He has kept among 'us in times of peace standing armies and ships of war^ without the consent of our legislatures. He has affected to render the military independent of, and superior to, the civil power. He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitutions and unacknowledged by our laws, giving his assent to their acts of pretended legisla- tion for quartering large bodies of armed troops among us; for protecting them by a mock-trial from punishment for any murders which they should commit on the inhabit- ants of these states; for cutting off our trade with all parts of the world; for impos- ing taxes on us without our consent; for depriving us"^ of the benefits of trial by jury; for transporting us beyond seas to be tried for pretended offenses; for abolishing the free system of English laws in a neighboring province, establishing therein an arbitrary government, and enlarging its boundaries, so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these states^\ for taking away our charters, abolishing our most valuable laws, and altering fundamentally the forms of our governments; for suspend- ing our own legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever. He has abdicated government here, with- drawing his governors,, and declaring us out of his allegiance and protection.'^ He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people. 6 obstructed. « by. ' in many cases. 8 colonies. » by declaring us out of his protection and waging war against us. THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE i6i He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign mercenaries to complete the works of death, desolation, and tyranny already begun with circumstances of cruelty and perfidy^ unworthy the head of a civilized nation. He has constrained others^ taken captive/ on the high seas to bear arms against their country, to become the executioners of their friends and brethren, or to fall themselves by their hands. He has^ endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers the merciless Indian savages, whose known rule of warfare is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes, and conditions of existence. He has incited treasonable insurrections of our fellow-citizens, with the allurements of forfeiture and confiscation of property. He has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him, captivating and carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither. This piratical war- fare, the opprobrium of infidel powers, is the warfare of the Christian King of Great Britain. Determined to keep open a market where men should be bought and sold, he has prostituted his negative for suppressing every legislative attempt to prohibit or to restrain this execrable commerce. And that this assemblage of horrors might want no fact of distinguished die, he is now exciting those very people to rise in arms among us, and to purchase that liberty of which he has deprived them, by murdering the people upon whom he also obtruded them; thus paying off former crimes committed against the liberties of one people with crimes which he urges them to commit against the lives of another. In every stage of these oppressions we have petitioned for redress in the most humble terms; our repeated petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A prince whose character is thus marked by 1 scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally. 2 our fellow-citizens. {This paragraph is printed in the position to which the Congress shifted it. In Jeffer- son's draft it stands below the second following paragraph^ beginning, He has incited treasonable insurrections, etc.) ' excited domestic insurrections amongst us and has. every act which may define a tyrant is unfit to be the ruler of 2^ people who mean to be free. Future ages will scarcely believe that the hardiness of one man adventured, within the short compass of twelve years only, to build a foundation so broad and undisguised for tyranny over a people fostered and fixed in principles of freedom. Nor have we been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend a^ jurisdiction over these our states.^ We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here, no one of which could warrant so strange a pretension; that these were effected at the expense of our own blood and treasure, unassisted by the wealth or the strength of Great Britain; that in constituting indeed our several forms of government, we had adopted one common king, thereby laying a foundation for perpetual league and amity with them; but that submission to their par- liament was no part of our constitution, nor ever in idea, if history may be credited; and we^ appealed to their native justice and magnanimity as well as to^ the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpa- tions which were likely to^ interrupt our connections^ and correspondence. They, too, have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity, and when occasions have been given them, by the regular course of their laws, of removing from th'eir councils the disturbers of our harmony, they have, by their free elec- tion, re-established them in power. At this very time, too, they are permitting their chief magistrate to send over not only soldiers of our common blood, but Scotch and foreign mer- cenaries to invade and destroy us. These facts have given the last stab to agonizing affection, and manly spirit bids us to renounce for ever these unfeeling brethren. We must endeavor to forget our former love for them and to hold them as we hold the rest of mankind^ enemies in war, in peace friends. We might have been a free and a great people together; but a communication of grandeur and of * free. * an unwarrantable. « us. ^ have. 8 and we have conjured them by. » would inevitably. 10 connections. 1 6. THOMAS JEFFERSON jreedom, it seems, is belozu their dignity. Be it sn, since they will have it. The road in happiness and to glory is open to us too. He ^vill climb it apart from them, and^ acquiesce in the necessity wliicli denounces our eternal separation.- \Ve, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Con- gress asseiiibled,2 Jo, in the name, and by authority of the good people of these states, reject and renounce all allegiance and subjec- tion to the Kings oj Great Britain and all others who may hereafter claim by, through, or under them; zue utterly dissolve all political connection which may heretofore have sub- sisted between us and the people or Parliament of Great Britain; and, finally, we do assert and declare these colonies to be free and in- dependent States,* and that as free and independent states, they have full power to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts and things which independent states may of right do. And for the support of this declaration,-^ we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. FIRST INAUGURAL ADDRESS" Friends and Fellow-Citizens: Called upon to undertake the duties of the first executive office of our country, I avail myself of the presence -of that portion of my fellow-citizens which is here assembled to express my grateful thanks for the favor > We must, therefore, 2 and hold tht:m, as we hold the rest of mankind, enemies in war, in peace friends. ' appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions. * colonies, solemnly publish and declare, that these united colonies are and of right ought to be free and independent states; that t.hey are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown; and that ail political connection between them and the state of Great Brit- ain is and ought to be totally dissolved; ' with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence. •Delivered 4 March, 1 801. An extraordinarily bitter conflict of opinion preceded Jefferson's presi- dency, and his election was looked upon by himself and his followers as a veritable, though fortunately peace- ful, revolution — a triumph of simple republicanis^T» over monarchical ambition. It has been remarked that the fundamental nature of the change which had taken place would scarcely be guessed by the unin- structed reader of this Address. Jefferson did not re- with which they have been pleased to look towards me, to declare a smcere conscious- ness that the task is above my talents, and that I approach it with those anxious and awful presentiments which the greatness of the charge, and the weakness of my powers, so justly inspire. A rising nation, spread over a wide and fruitful land, traversing all the seas with the rich productions of their industry, engaged in commerce with nations who feel power and forget right, advancing rapidly to destinies beyond the reach of mortal eye; when I contemplate these transcendent objects, and see the honor, the happiness, and the hopes of this beloved country committed to the issue and the auspices of this day, I shrink from the contemplation, and humble myself before the magnitude of the undertaking. Utterly, indeed, should I despair, did not the presence of many whom I here see, remind me that, in the other high authorities provided by our Constitution, I shall find resources of wisdom, of virtue, and of zeal, on which to rely under all difficulties. To you, then, gentlemen, who are charged with the sover- eign functions of legislation, and to those associated with you, I look with encourage- ment for that guidance and support which may enable us to steer with safety the vessel in which we are all embarked, amidst the conflicting elements of a troubled world. During the contest of opinion through which we have passed, the animation of discussions and of exertions has sometimes worn an aspect which might impose on strangers unused to think freely, and to speak and to write what they think; but this being now decided by the voice of the nation, announced according to the rules of the Constitution, all will of course arrange themselves under the will of the law, and unite in common efforts for the common good. All too will bear in mind this sacred principle, that though the will of the majority is in all cases to prevail, that will, to be rightful, must be reasonable; that the minority possess their equal rights, which equal laws must protect, and to violate veal his full mind, nor deliver an exultant manifesto, because it was now his purpose, as the unquestioned victor, not only to treat his opponents tolerantly, but also to try to win the whole country to united support of the Republic. FIRST INAUGURAL ADDRESS 163 which would be oppression. Let us, then, fellow-citizens, unite with one heart and one mind, let us restore to social intercourse that harmony and affection without which liberty, and even life itself, are but dreary things. And let us reflect that, having banished from our land that religious in- tolerance under which mankind so long bled and suffered, we have yet gained little, if we countenance a political intolerance, as despotic as wicked, and capable of as bitter and bloody persecutions. During the throes and convulsions of the ancient world, ^ during the agonized spasms of infuriated man, seeking through blood and slaughter his long-lost liberty, it was not wonderful that the agitation of the billows should reach even this distant and peaceful shore; that this should be felt and feared by some, and less by others, and should divide opin- ions as to measures of safety; but every difference of opinion is not a difference of principle. We have called by different names brethren of the same principle. We are all Republicans; we are all Federalists. If there be any among us who wish to dis- solve this Union, or to change its Republican form, let them stand undisturbed as monu- ments of the safety with which error of opinion may be tolerated, where reason is left free to combat it. I know, indeed, that some honest men fear that a Republican government cannot be strong; that this government is not strong enough. But would the honest patriot, in the full tide of successful experiment, abandon a govern- ment which has so far kept us free and firm, on the theoretic and visionary fear that this government, the world's best hope, may, by possibility, want energy to preserve itself? I trust not. I believe this, on the contrary, the strongest government on earth. I believe it the only one where every man, at the call of the law, would fly to the standard of the law, and would meet the invasions of the public order as his own personal concern. Sometimes it is said that man cannot be trusted with the government of himself. Can he then be trusted with the government of others? Or, have we found angels in the form of kings, to govern him? Let history answer this question. 1 /.' to the operations of the ostensible Executive. An artful cabal in that council would be able to distract and to enervate the whole system of administration. If no such cabal should exist, the mere diversity of views and opinions would alone be sufficient to tincture the exercise of the executive authority with a spirit of habitual feebleness and dilatoriness. But one of the weightiest objections to a plurality in the Executive, and which lies as much against the last as the first plan, is that it tends to conceal faults and destroy responsibility. Responsibility is of two kinds — to censure and to punishment. The first is the more important of the two, es- pecially in an elective office. Man, in public trust, will much oftener act in such a manner as to render him unworthy of being any longer trusted, than in such a manner as to make him obnoxious to legal punishment. But the multiplication of the Executive adds to the difficulty of detection in either case. It often becomes impossible, amidst mutual accusations, to determine on whom the blame or the punishment of a pernicious measure, or series of pernicious measures, ought really to fall. It is shifted from one to another with so much dexterity, and under such plausible appearances, that the public opinion is left in suspense about the real author. The circumstances which may have led to any national miscarriage or misfortune are sometimes so complicated that, where there are a number of actors who may have had different degrees and kinds of agency, though we may clearly see upon the whole that there has been mismanagement, yet it may be impracticable to pronounce to whose account the evil which may have been incurred is truly chargeable. *'I was overruled by my council. The council were so divided in their opinions that it was impossible to obtain any better reso- lution on the point." These and similar pretexts are constantly at hand, whether true or false. And who is there that will either take the trouble or incur the odium of a strict scrutiny into the secret springs of the transaction.' Should there be found a citizen zealous enough to undertake the un- promising task, if there happen to be collu- sion between the parties concerned, how easy it is to clothe the circumstances with so much ambiguity as to render it uncertain what was the precise conduct of any of those parties! In the single instance in which the gover- nor of this State' is coupled with a council — • that is, in the appointment to offices, we have seen the mischiefs of it in the view now under consideration. Scandalous appoint- ments to important offices have been made. Some cases, indeed, have been so flagrant that all parties have agreed in the impro- priety of the thing. When inquiry has been made, the blame has been laid by the gover- nor on the members of the council, who, on their part, have charged it upon his nomina- tion; while the people remain altogether at a loss to determine by whose influence their interests have been committed to hands so unqualified and so manifestly improper. In tenderness to individuals, I forbear to descend to particulars. It is evident from these considerations that the plurality of the Executive tends to deprive the people of the two greatest securities they can have for the faithful exercise of any delegated power: first, the restraints of public opinion, which lose their efficacy, as well on account of the division of the censure attendant on bad measures among a number as on account of the uncer- tainty on whom it ought to fall ; and, secondly, the opportunity of discovering with facility and clearness the misconduct of the persons they trust, in order either to their removal from office, or to their actual punishment in cases which admit of it. In England, the king is a perpetual magis- trate; and it is a maxim which has obtained for the sake of the public peace, that he is unaccountable for his administration, and his person sacred. Nothing, therefore, can be wiser in that kingdom, than to annex to the king a constitutional council, who may be responsible to the nation for the advice they give. Without this, there would be no responsibility whatever in the executive department — an Idea inadmissible in a free government. But even there the king is not bound by the resolutions of his council, though they are answerable for the advice 1 1.e.y New York. THE FEDERALIST i«i they give. He is the absolute master of his own conduct in the exercise of his office, and may observe or disregard the counsel given to him at his sole discretion. But in a republic, where every magistrate ought to be personally responsible for his behavior in office, the reason which in the British Constitution dictates the propriety of a council, not only ceases to apply, but turns against the institution. In the mon- archy of Great Britain, it furnishes a sub- stitute for the prohibited responsibility of the chief magistrate, which serves in some degree as a hostage to the national justice for his good behavior. In the American republic it would serve to destroy, or would greatly diminish, the intended and necessary responsibility of the Chief Magistrate himself. The idea of a council to the Executive, which has so generally obtained in the State constitutions, has been derived from that maxim of republican jealousy which, con- siders power as safer in the hands of a num- ber of men than of a single man. If the maxim should be admitted to be applicable to the case, I should contend that the ad- vantage on that side would not counter- balance the numerous disadvantages on the opposite side. But I do not think the rule at all applicable to the executive power. I clearly concur in opinion, in this particular, with a writer whom the celebrated Junius pronounces to be "deep, solid, and in- genious," that "the executive power is more easily confined when it is one";^ that it is far more safe there should be a single object for the jealousy and watchfulness of the people; and, in a word, that all multiplica- tion of the Executive is rather dangerous than friendly to liberty. A little consideration will satisfy us that the species of security sought for in the multiplication of the Executive is unattain- able. Numbers must be so great as to render combination difficult, or they are rather a source of danger than of security. The 1 De Lolme. (Hamilton's note.) A Swiss -consti- tutional writer (born at Geneva, 1740, died 1806) who lived in England for some years and wrote a treatise on The Constitution of England (1771, English ed'n, 1775)- united credit and influence of several indi- viduals must be more formidable to liberty than the credit and influence of either of them separately. When power, therefore, is placed in the hands of so small a number of men as to admit of their interests and views being easily combined in a common enterprise, by an artful leader, it becomes more liable to abuse, and more dangerous when abused, than if it be lodged in the hands of one man; who, from the very circumstance of his being alone, will be more narrowly watched and more readily sus- pected, and who cannot unite so great a mass of influence as when he is associated with others. The Decemvirs of Rome, whose name denotes their number,^ were more to be dreaded in their usurpation than any one of them would have been. No person would think of proposing an Execu- tive much more numerous than that body; from six to a dozen have been suggested for the number of the council. The extreme of these numbers is not too great for an easy combination; and from such a combination America would have more to fear than from the ambition of any single individual. A council to a magistrate, who is himself responsible for what he does, are generally nothing better than a clog upon his good intentions, are often the instruments and accomplices of his bad, and are almost always a cloak to his faults. I forbear to dwell upon the subject of expense; though it be evident that if the council should be numerous enough to answer the principal end aimed at by the institution, the salaries of the members, who must be drawn from their homes to reside at the seat of government, would form an item in the catalogue of public expenditures too serious to be incurred for an object of equivocal utility. I will only add that, prior to the appearance of the Constitution, I rarely met with an intelligent man from any of the States, who did not admit, as the result of experience, that the unity of the executive of this State was one of the best of the distinguishing features of our constitution. 2 Ten. (Hamilton's note.) JOEL BARLOW (1754-1812) Barlow was born at Retlcling, Connecticut, on 24 March, 1754. He attended Dartmouth College and Yale College, and was graduated from the latter. During college vacations he served as a vol- unteer in the Revolutionary army, and, after his graduation, as a chaplain. Before holding the latter post he had begun the study of the law. In the early i/So's he settled at Hartford, working as a jour- nalist and perhaps looking forward to a legal career. But he was also writing poetry, and in 1787 published The I'ision of Columbus, a reflective poem of considerable length (4,700 lines), which was received with warm praise not only in America, but also in England and France, In the following year Barlow went to France as an agent of a group of speculators who styled themselves the Scioto (Ohio) Land Company. It is said that he was ignorant of the fraudulent nature of the enterprise. In France he became a supporter of the Revolution, and went almost as far in identifying himself with the movement as did Paine. While he was visiting England (1791-1792) he published in London a poem entitled The Conspiracy of Kings, and he was delegated by the London Constitutional Society to present an address to the French Convention. In 1792 he published a political tract in Paris, Advice to the Privileged Orders in the Several States of Europe (a later republican tract, published in Philadel- phia, 1801, was entitled: Joel Barlow to his Fellozv-Citizens in the United States). In 1792 he also was a candidate for membership in the Convention, and it was while he was forwarding his candidacy in Chambery that he had placed before him the hasty pudding (boiled Indian meal) which took him in memory back to his own land and caused him to write the poem here reprinted. It "is certainly his most original and enduring poem and also one of the best pieces of humorous verse in our early litera- ture." It "is a mock-heroic of the conventional eighteenth-century type. . . . The pastoral scenes are native, not imitated, the diction is simple and natural, and the humor, though rather thin, is suf- ficiently amusing." (S. M. Tucker, Camb. Hist. Am. Lit., I.) In 1795 Barlow went to Algiers as American consul, where he remained two years. During this time he procured the release of some American prisoners. In 1798 he was back in Paris, and was of some service to the American government there. At the same time he engaged in speculations which were so successful as to yield him a moderate fortune. In 1805 he returned to the United States, and two years afterwards published a large expansion of his Vision of Columbus — in its new form called The Columbiad — in which he sought to outstrip Homer as the creator of a national epic. His ambition was mistaken and the poem was at once set down a failure — a verdict which no later generation has cared to dispute. In 181 1 Madison appointed Barlow Minister to France. In the following year he set out for Wilna to hold a conference with Napoleon. Owing to the hardships of the journey he fell ill, and died near Cracow, Poland, on 24 December, 1812. THE HASTY PUDDING^ CANTO I Ye Alps audacious, through the heavens that rise, To cramp the day and hide me from the skies; Ye Gallic flags, that o'er their heights un- furled, Bear death to kings and freedom to the world, I sing not you. A softer theme I choose, A virgin theme, unconscious of the muse, But fruitful, rich, well suited to inspire The purest frenzy of poetic fire. 1 First published in 1796. Despise it not, ye bards to terror steeled, Who hurl your thunders round the epic field; 10 Nor ye who strain your midnight throats to sing Joys that the vineyard and the stillhouse bring; Or on some distant fair your notes employ, And speak of raptures that you ne'er enjoy. I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel, My morning incense, and my evening meal, — The sweets of Hasty Pudding. Come, dear bowl. Glide o'er my palate, and inspire my souL The milk beside thee, smoking from the kine, 182 THE HASTY PUDDING 183 Its substance mingled, married in with thine, 20 Shall cool and temper thy superior heat. And save the pains of blowing while I eat. Oh! could the smooth, the emblematic ■ song Flow like the genial juices o'er my tongue, Could those mild morsels in my numbers chime, And, as they roll in substance, roll in rhyme. No more thy awkward, unpoetic name Should shun the muse or prejudice thy fame; But, rising grateful to the accustomed ear, All bards should catch it, and all realms revere! 30 Assist me first with pious toil to trace Through wrecks of time, thy lineage and thy race; Declare what lovely squaw, in days of yore (Ere great Columbus sought thy native shore). First gave thee to the world; her works of fame Have lived indeed, but lived without a name. Some tawny Ceres, goddess of her days. First learned with stones to crack the well-* dried maize, Through the rough sieve to shake the golden shower, In boiling water stir the yellow flour: 40 The yellow flour, bestrewed and stirred with haste. Swells in the flood and thickens to a paste. Then pufl^s and wallops, rises to the brim, Drinks the dry knobs that on the surface swim; The knobs at last the busy ladle breaks. And the whole mass its true consistence takes. Could but her sacred name, unknown so long, Rise, like her labors, to the son of song, To her, to them I'd consecrate my lays, And blow her pudding with the breath of praise. 50 If 'twas Oella whom I sang before,^ I here ascribe her one great virtue more. Not through the rich Peruvian realms alone The fame of Sol's sweet daughter should be known, 1 Peruvian princess, said to have discovered the art of spinning. Barlow had sung her praise before in The Vision of Columbus, Bk. II. But o'er the world's wide climes should live secure. Far as his rays extend, as long as they en- dure. Dear Hasty Pudding, what unpromised joy Expands my heart, to meet thee in Savoy! Doomed o'er the world through devious paths to roam. Each clime my country, and each house my home, 60 My soul is soothed, my cares have found an end; I greet my long-lost, unforgotten friend. For thee through Paris, that corrupted town. How long in vain I wandered up and down, Where shameless Bacchus, with his drench- ing hoard, Cold from his cave usurps the morning board. London is lost in smoke and steeped in tea; No Yankee there can lisp the name of thee; The uncouth word, a libel on the town, Would call a proclamation from the crown. 70 For climes oblique, that fear the sun's full rays. Chilled in their fogs, exclude the generous maize; A grain whose rich, luxuriant growth re- quires Short, gentle showers, and bright, ethereal fires. But here, though distant from our native shore. With mutual glee, we meet and laugh once more. The same! I know thee by that yellow face, That strong complexion of true Indian race. Which time can never change, nor soil im- pair, Nor Alpine snows, nor Turkey's morbid air; 80 For endless years, through every mild domain, Where grows the maize, there thou art sure to reign. But man, more fickle, the bold license claims. In different realms to give thee different names. Thee the soft nations round the warm Levant Polanta call; the French, of course, Polante. i84 JOEL BARLOW K'cn in tliy native regions, how I blush To hear the IViinsyI\ anians call thee Mush! On lliiilson's banks, while men of Belgic spaw n Insult and eat thee by the name Suppawn. 90 All spurious appellations, void of truth; I've better known thee from my earliest youth: Thy name is Hasty Pudding! thus my sire Was wont to greet thee fuming from his Hre; And while he argued in thy just defense With logic clear he thus explained the sense: "In haste the boiling caldron, o'er the blaze, Receives and cooks the ready powdered maize; In haste 'tis served, and then in equal haste, W ith cooling milk, we make the sweet re- past. 100 No carving to be done, no knife to grate The tender ear and wound the stony plate; But the smooth spoon, just fitted to the lip, And taught with art the yielding mass to dip. By frequent journeys to the bowl well stored, Performs the hasty honors of the board." Such is thy name, significant and clear, A name, a sound to every Yankee dear. But most to me, whose heart and palate chaste Preserve my pure, hereditary taste. no There are who strive to stamp with dis- repute The luscious food, because it feeds the brute; In tropes of high-strained wit, while gaudy prigs Compare thy nursling, man, to pampered pigs, With sovereign scorn I treat the vulgar jest, Nor fear to share thy bounties with the beast. What though the generous cow gives me to quaff The milk nutritious: am I then a calf.? Or can the genius of the noisy swine. Though nursed on pudding, thence lay claim to mine.? 120 Sure the sweet song I fashion to thy praise. Runs more melodious than the notes they raise. My song, resounding in its grateful glee. No merit claims: I praise myself in thee. My father loved thee through his length of days! For thee his fields were shaded o'er with maize; From thee what health, what vigor he pos- sessed, Ten sturdy freemen from his loins attest;^ Thy constellation ruled my natal morn. And all my bones were made of Indian corn. 130 Delicious grain, whatever form it take. To roast or boll, to smother or to bake, In every dish 'tis welcome still to me. But most, my Hasty Pudding, most in thee. Let the green succotash with thee contend; Let beans and corn their sweetest juices blend; Let butter drench them In Its yellow tide, And a long slice of bacon grace their side; Not all the plate, how famed soe'er it be. Can please my palate like a bowl of thee. 140 Some talk of hoe-cake, fair Virginia's pride! Rich johnny-cake this mouth has often tried; Both please me well, their virtues much the same, Alike their fabric, as allied their fame — Except In dear New Engjand, where the last Receives a dash of pumpkin In the paste, To give It sweetness and Improve the taste. But place them all before me, smoking hot, The big, round dumpling, rolling from the pot; The pudding of the bag, whose quivering breast, 150 With suet lined, leads on the Yankee feast; The charlotte brown, within whose crusty sides A belly soft the pulpy apple hides; The yellow bread whose face like amber glows. And all of Indian that the bake-pan knows — You tempt me not; my favorite greets my eyes. To that loved bowl my spoon by instinct flies. CANTO II To mix the food by vicious rules of art. To kill the stomach and to sink the heart. To make mankind to social virtue sour, Cram o'er each dish, and be what they de- vour; For this the kitchen muse first framed her book. Commanding sweats to stream from every cook; 1 In some early editions: "freemen sprung from him attest." THE HASTY PUDDING i8s Children no more their antic gambols tried, And friends to physic wondered why they died. Not so the Yankee: his abundant feast, With simples furnished and with plainness dressed, lo A numerous offspring gathers round the board, And cheers alike the servant and the lord; Whose well-bought hunger prompts the joy- ous taste. And health attends them from the short repast. While the full pail rewards the milkmaid's toil. The mother sees the morning caldron boil; To stir the pudding next demands their care; To spread the table and the bowls prepare; To feed the household as their portions cool And send them all to labor or to school. i 20 Yet may the simplest dish some rules im- part, For nature scorns not all the aids of art. E'en Hasty Pudding, purest of all food. May still be bad, indifferent, or good, As sage experience the short process guides, Or want of skill, or want of care presides. Whoe'er would form it on the surest plan. To rear the child and long sustain the man. To shield the morals while it mends the size, And all the powers of every food sup- plies— 30 Attend the lesson that the muse shall bring, Suspend your spoons, and listen while I sing. But since,- O man! thy life and health de- mand Not food alone, but labor from thy hand, First, in the field, beneath the sun's strong rays. Ask of thy mother earth the needful maize; She loves the race that courts her yielding soil. And gives her bounties to the sons of toil. When now the ox, obedient to thy call. Repays the loan that filled the winter stall, 40 Pursue his traces o'er the furrowed plain. And plant in measured hills the golden grain. But when the tender germ begins to shoot. And the green spire declares the sprouting root. I In some early editions: "And comb their heads, and send them off to school." Then guard your nursling from each greedy foe, The insidious worm, the all-devouring crow. A little ashes sprinkled round the spire. Soon steeped in rain, will bid the worm re- tire; The feathered robber with his hungry maw Swift flies the field before your man of straw, 50 A frightful image, such as schoolboys bring When met to burn the Pope or hang the King. Thrice in the season, through each verdant row. Wield the strong plowshare and the faithful ho^- The faithful hoe, a double task that takes. To till the summer corn and roast the winter cakes. Slow springs the blade, while checked by chilling rains. Ere yet the sun the seat of Cancer gains; But when his fiercest fires emblaze the land. Then start the juices, then the roots ex- pand; 60 Then, like a column of Corinthian mold, The stalk struts upward and the leaves un- fold; The bushy branches all the ridges fill, Entwine their arms, and kiss from hill to hill. Here cease to vex them; all your cares are done: Leave the last labors to the parent sun; Beneath his genial smiles, the well-dressed field. When autumn calls, a plenteous crop shall yield. Now the strong foliage bears the standards high, And shoots the tall top-gallants to the sky; 70 The suckling ears their silky fringes bend. And, pregnant grown, their swelling coats distend; The loaded stalk, while still the burden grows, O'erhangs the space that runs between the rows; High as a hop-field waves the silent grove, A safe retreat for little thefts of love. When the pledged roasting-ears invite the maid To meet her swain beneath the new-formed shade; His generous hand unloads the cumbrous hill, 1 86 JOKL 15ARLOW And the <;rccn spoils her ready basket fill; 80 Small a)nipensatii)n tor the twofold bliss, Ihe promised wedding and the present kiss. Slight dej^redations these; but now the moon Calls from his hollow tree the sly raccoon; And while by night he bears his prize away, The bolder stjuirrel labors through the day. Both thieves alike, but provident of time, A virtue rare, that almost hides their crime. Then let them steal the little stores they can. And fill their granaries from the toils of man; 90 We've one advantage where they take no part — With all their wiles, they ne'er have found the art To boil the Hasty Pudding; here we shine Superior far to tenants of the pine; This envied boon to man shall still belong Unshared by them in substance or in song. At last the closing season browns the plain, And "ripe October gathers in the grain; Deep-loaded carts the spacious corn-house fill; The sack distended marches to the mill; 100 The laboring mill beneath the burden groans. And showers the future pudding from the stones; Till the glad housewife greets the powdered gold. And the new crop exterminates the old. Ah, who can sing what every wight must feel, The joy that enters with the bag of meal, A general jubilee pervades the house, \\ akes every child and gladdens every mouse. 1 CANTO III The days grow short; but though the fall- ing sun To the glad swain proclaims his day's work done. Night's pleasing shades his various tasks pro- long, And yield new subjects to my various song. For now, the corn-house filled, the harvest home, The invited neighbors to the husking come; A frolic scene, where work, and mirth, and play. Unite their charms to chase the hours away. 1 The last four lines of this canto do not appear in some early editions. Where the huge heap lies centered in the hall, The lamp suspended from the cheerful wall, 10 Brown, corn-fed nymphs, and strong, hard- handed beaux, Alternate ranged, extend in circling rows, Assume their seats, the solid mass attack; Ihe dry husks rustle, and the corncobs crack; The song, the laugh, alternate notes resound. And the sweet cider trips in silence round. The laws of husking every wight can tell; And sure no laws he ever keeps so well: For each red ear a general kiss he gains, With each smut ear she smuts the luckless swains; 20 But when to some sweet maid a prize is cast, Red as her lips and taper as her waist, She walks the round and culls one favored beau, Who leaps the luscious tribute to bestow. Various the sport, as are the wits and brains Of well-pleased lasses and contending swains; Till the vast mound of corn is swept away. And he that gets the last ear wins the day. Meanwhile, the housewife urges all her care The well-earned feast to hasten and pre- pare. 30 The sifted meal already waits her hand. The milk is strained, the bowls in order stand. The fire flames high; and as a pool — that takes The headlong stream that o'er the mill- dam breaks — Foams, roars, and rages with incessant toils, So the vexed caldron rages, roars, and boils. First with clean salt she seasons well the food, Then strews the flour, and thickens all the flood. Long o'er the simmering fire she lets it stand; To stir it well demands a stronger hand; 40 The husband takes his turn: and round and round 1 he ladle flies. At last the toil is crowned; When to the board the thronging buskers pour, And take their seats as at the corn before. I leave them to their feast. There still belong More useful- matters to my faithful song, i 2 In some early editions: "copious." THE HASTY PUDDING 187 For rules there are, though ne'er unfolded yet, Nice rules and wise, how pudding should be ate. Some with molasses line the luscious treat, And mix, like bards, the useful with the sweet :^ 50 A wholesome dish, and well deserving praise, A great resource in those bleak wintry days. When the chilled earth lies buried deep in snow. And raging Boreas dries^ the shivering cow. Bless'd cow, thy praise shall still my notes employ. Great source of health, the only source of joy! Mother of Egypt's god, — but sure, for me, Were I to leave my God, I'd worship thee.^ How^ oft thy teats these pious hands have pressed! How oft thy bounties proved my only feast ! 60 How oft I've fed thee with my favorite grain ! And roared, like thee, to see^ thy children slain! Ye swains w^ho know^ her various worth to prize, Ah! house her well from winter's angry skies. Potatoes, pumpkins, should her sadness cheer. Corn from your crib, and mashes from your ■ beer; When spring returns, she'll well acquit the loan, And nurse at once your infants and her own. Milk, then, with pudding I should always choose; To this in future I confine my muse, 70 Till she in haste some further hints unfold. Well for the young, nor useless to the old. First in your bowl the milk abundant take, 1 In allusion to 1. 343 of Horace's De Arte Poetica: Omne tulit punctum^ qui miscuit utile dulci. The early editions carry this line on their title-pages and, under- neath: " He makes a good breakfast who mixes pudding with molasses." 2 Some early editions: "drives.'' ' This and the preceding line do not appear in some early editions. < Some early editions: "find." 1 hen drop with care along the silver lake YouT flakes of pudding; these at first will hide Their little bulk beneath the swelling tide; But when their growing mass no more can sink, When the soft island looms above the brink, I hen check your hand; you've got the por- tion due; So taught our sires, and what they taught is true. 80 There is a choice in spoons. Though small appear The nice distinction, yet to me 'tis clear. The deep-bowled Gallic spoon, contrived to scoop In ample draughts the thin, diluted soup, Performs not well in those substantial things. Whose mass adhesive to the metal clings; Where the strong labial muscles must em- brace The gentle curve, and sweep the hollow space, With ease to enter and discharge the freight, A bowl less concave, but still more dilate, 90 Becomes the pudding best. The shape, the size, A secret rests, unknown to vulgar eyes. Experienced feeders can alone impart A rule so much above the lore of art. These tuneful lips that thousand spoons have tried, With just precision could the point decide, Though not in song; the muse but poorly shines In cones, and cubes, and geometric lines. Yet the true form, as near as she can tell. Is that small section of a goose-egg shell, icxd Which in two equal portions shall divide The distance from the center to the side. Fear not to slaver; 'tis no deadly sin. Like the free Frenchman, from your joyous chin Suspend the ready napkin; or, like me, Poise with one hand your bowl upon your knee; Just in the zenith your wise head project, Your full spoon, rising in a line direct, Bold as a bucket, heeds no drops that fall; The wide-mouthed bowl will surely catch them all! no PHILIP FRENEAU (1752-1832) Philip Morin Freneau was born in New York on 13 January, 1752, the son of a prosperous Hugue- not merchant who also owned a large country estate in New Jersey. In his sixteenth year Philip entered the sophomcre class of the college at Princeton. Several of his classmates were youths who were to become notable men, one of them being James Madison; and in the class below him was Aaron Burr. Already when he entered college Philip was an easy and copious writer, particularly of heroic verse, and at Princeton his writing was continued and encouraged. After his graduation (1771) Freneau spent several years teaching school, at first in Flatbush, Long Island, where, however, he remained only thirteen days, after which he wrote to Madison: "Long Island I have bid adieu. With all its brutish, brainless crew. The youth of that detested place Are void of reason and of grace. From Flushing hills to Flatbush plains Deep ignorance unrivaled reigns." The remainder of his school- teaching was done near Princess Anne, Maryland. Already he had published a number of poems, and in the summer of 1775 he was in New York, fired by the impending trouble with England, and writing many satiric verses against the British. Even thus early in his career, however, he was begin- ning to suffer from the lack of poetic appreciation amongst his contemporaries, and in the autumn he sailed with a friend for Santa Cruz. On the voyage the mate died, and Freneau had to learn the art of navigation and take his place. For two years he made his home on the island of Santa Cruz, spend- ing some time in short voyages, and writing poetry — notably The Beauties of Santa Cruz, The House of Night, and The Jamaica Funeral. The second of these is a long poem on death and the grave — too long to be reprinted here (only fragments of it, which lead to an incorrect impression, have been reprinted, save in F. L. Pattee's edition of Freneau's poems). This poem sufl^ers from some radical defects, but has, nevertheless, received high praise for isolated lines of great beauty. It is, moreover, important for the connection it helps to establish between some of Freneau's work and the romantic movement, inasmuch as it anticipates both Coleridge and Poe. In the summer of 1778 f>eneau returned to America, and almost at once began publishing verses. He was an important and extensive contributor to the United States Magazine, edited by his college class- mate, H. H. Brackenridge, which lived through twelve issues. Some notion of the condition of lit- erature in 1779 may be gained from the editor's closing words. He declares that large numbers of Americans "inhabit the region of stupidity, and cannot bear to have the tranquillity of their repose disturbed by the villainous shock of a book. Reading is to them the worst of all torments, and I remember very well that at the commencement of the work it was their language, *Art thou come to torment us before the time?' We will now say to them, 'Sleep on and take your rest.'" In the winter of 1779-1780 Freneau was again on the sea, acting as supercargo on a ship sailing to the Azores. In the summer of 1780 he sailed from Philadelphia to revisit the West Indies, but his ship was taken by the British and the poet was kept a prisoner for some weeks, during which he was attacked by a dangerous fever. His experiences he described in The Prison Ship, a satiric poem. In 1781 he became, upon its establishment in Philadelphia, editor of the freeman's Journal, a post which he held for three j-ears. "During all of this time," says his editor (F. L. Pattee), "his muse was exceedingly active. He followed carefully the last years of the war, and put into satiric verse every movement of the 'insolent foe.' He sang the victory of Jones, and mourned in plaintive numbers the dead at Eutaw Springs. He voiced his indignation over the destructive career of Cornwallis, and burst into a Laus Deo at his fall. The ludicrous plight of Rivington and Gaines [royalist printers], the distress of the Tories, and the final departure of the British filled him with glee, which he poured out in song after song. It was his most prolific and spontaneous period." Yet he was not without moods of discouragement. "Barbers cannot possibly exist as such," he wrote, "among a people who have neither hair nor beards. How, then, can a poet hope for success in a city where there are not three persons possessed of elegant ideas?" As editor he wrote, besides verse, much prose, some of which should be better known. A convinced democrat, he not only assailed British tyranny but, like Thomas Paine, attacked negro slavery, and cruelty in every form, and championed the rights of woman. A journalistic attack upon him is thought to have caused his withdrawal from the paper in June, 1784, whereupon, as was usual with him throughout his life when he became hard pressed, he again took to the sea, and was chiefly engaged in sailing merchant ships until 1790. During this period, how- 188 ON THE MEMORABLE VICTORY OF PAl L JONES 189 ever, the first collected edition of his poems appeared (1786) and a supplementary volume containing prose and additional poems (1788). In 1790 Freneau was married to Miss Eleanor Forman, and from this year until the spring of 1798 he was engaged in journalism in New York and Philadelphia. As was said, he was a demo- crat, and he regarded the French Revolution with enthusiasm. He wrote with intense zeal for the cause of the anti-federalists, and during a portion of the time was supported by Jefferson, who gave him a minor government post (at a salary of $250 the year). The period was one of bitter contro- versy, and Washington, who sympathized with the federalists, came in for attack. On one occasion he angrily spoke of "That rascal, Freneau." No disinterested inquirer any longer doubts that Fre- neau was honest, and was sincere in his political beliefs, yet Washington's splenetic remark has often been used against him and has done much to injure his reputation, not only as a man, but as a poet. After the failure of several journalistic enterprises, Freneau retired with his family to his farm at Mount Pleasant, New Jersey, in 1798, and there he lived, often on the verge of poverty, during the greater part of his remaining years. From 1803 to 1807 he was once more on the sea, constrained by need; but after this his life at Mount Pleasant was unbroken, until his death from exposure in a snow-storm, on the night of 18 December, 1832. New editions of his poems had been published in 1795, 1809, and 1815. Freneau has been called "the poet of the Revolution," and, as well, "the father of American verse." There is justice in both phrases. A great poet he was not, but his talent was genuine within its limits. He was a cultured and well-read gentleman, and in his earliest verses went to school to the best masters, Milton, Gray, and Goldsmith. But, too, he was sensitive to the beauties of nat- ural scenery and capable of romantic feeling, and he presently struck an independent note, simple and unaffected, in the lyrical appreciation of the American Indian and American nature. Further, there can be no doubt that Freneau's deepest feelings were touched by the democratic principles of Thomas Paine and by the cause of democracy in America and in France. He served America as best he could in many satiric poems, a few of which, by reason of their vigor and originality, have intrin- sic worth, beyond their historic interest. Some of his lyrics, too, inspired by the French Revolu- tion, are among his best. And, finally, his experiences on shipboard stimulated him to the composi- tion of lyrics of the sea which at the time were new in kind and which remain interesting for their spirited tone and their authentic quality. There can be no doubt that Freneau's development was hindered by his environment and personal circumstances. The greater part of his verse is interest- ing only to the historian or antiquarian. Yet he wrote a few poems which are intrinsically fine in conception and workmanship and which are not derivative in character; — enough to distinguish him as America's earliest genuine poet. ON THE MEMORABLE VICTORY OF PAUL JONES 1 O'er the rough main with flowing sheet The guardian of a numerous fleet, Seraphis from the Baltic came; A ship of less tremendous force Sailed by her side the self-same course, Countess of Scarb'ro' was her name. And now their native coasts appear, Britannia's hills their summits rear Above the German main; Fond to suppose their dangers o'er^ 10 They southward coast along the shore. Thy waters, gentle Thames, to gain. Full forty guns Seraphis bore, And Scarb'ro's Countess twenty-four, Manned with Old England's boldest tars — 1 Written early in August, 1781. Published in Free- man's Journal. The event celebrated occurred on 23 September, 1779. What flag that rides the Gallic seas Shall dare attack such piles as these. Designed for tumults and for wars! Now from the top-mast's giddy height A seaman cried — "Four sail in sight 20 Approach with favoring gales"; Pearson, resolved to save the fleet. Stood off to sea these ships to meet, And closely braced his shivering sails. With him advanced the Countess bold. Like a black tar in wars grown old: And now these floating piles drew nigh; But, muse, unfold what chief of fame In th' other warlike squadron came, Whose standards at his mast-head fly. 30 'Twas Jones, brave Jones, to battle led As bold a crew as ever bled Upon the sky-surrounded main; The standards of the Western World Were to the willing winds unfurled. Denying Britain's tyrant reign. I go PHILIP FRENEAU The Good Man Richard led the line; The Allianct' next: with these combine The Gallic ship they Pallas call: The J't-ngeance, armed with sword and flame, 4° These to attack the Britons came — But two accomplished all. Now Phoebus sought his pearly bed: But who can tell the scenes of dread, The horrors of that fatal night! Close up these floating castles came; The Good Man Richard bursts in flame: Seraphis trembled at the sight. She felt the fury of her ball, Down, prostrate dow^n, the Britons fall; 50 Ihe decks were strewed with slain: Jones to the foe his vessel lashed; And, while the black artillery flashed, Loud thunders shook the main. Alas! that mortals should employ Such murdering engines, to destroy That frame by heav'n so nicely joined; Alas! that e'er the god decreed That brother should by brother bleed, And poured such madness in the mmd. 60 But thou, brave Jones, no blame shalt bear, The rights of men demand thy care: For these you dare the greedy waves — No tyrant on destruction bent Has planned thy conquests — thou art sent To humble tyrants and their slaves. See! — dread Seraphis flames again — • And art thou, Jones, among the slain. And sunk to Neptune's caves below — He lives — though crowds around him fall, 70 Still he, unhurt, survives them all; Almost alone he fights the foe. And can thy ship these strokes sustain.? Behold thy brave companions slain. All clasped m ocean's dark embrace. "Strike, or be sunk!" — the Briton cries — "Sink, if you can!" — the chief replies, Fierce lightnings blazing in his face. Then to the side three guns he drew (Almost deserted by his crew), And charged them deep with woe: 80 By Pearson's flash he aimed the balls; His main-mast totters — down it falls — Tremendous was the blow. Pearson as yet disdained to yield, But scarce his secret fears concealed, And thus w^as heard to cry — "With hell, not mortals, I contend; What art thou — human, or a fiend. That dost my force defy.'' 90 "Return, my lads, the fight renew!" So called bold Pearson to his crew; But called, alas! in vain; Some on the decks lay maimed and dead; Some to their deep recesses fled. And more were buried in the main. Distressed, forsaken, and alone. He hauled his tattered standard down, And yielded to his gallant foe; Bold Pallas soon the Countess took, 100 Thus both their haughty colors struck. Confessing what the brave can do. But, Jones, too dearly didst thou buy These ships possessed so gloriously. Too many deaths disgraced the fray: Thy bark that bore the conquering flame, That the proud Briton overcame, Even she forsook thee on thy way; For when the morn began to shine. Fatal to her, the ocean brine no Poured through each spacious w^ound; Quick in the deep she disappeared. But Jones to friendly Belgia steered, With conquest and with glory crowned. Go on, great man, to daunt the foe. And bid the haughty Britons know They to our Thirteen Stars shall bend; The Stars that veiled in dark attire, Long glirnmered with a feeble fire, But radiant now ascend; 120 Bend to the Stars that flaming rise In western, not in eastern, skies. Fair Freedom's reign restored. So when the magi, come from far, Beheld the God-attending Star, They trembled and adored. THE POLITICAL BALANCE 191 TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS! UNDER GENERAL GREENE, IN SOUTH CARO- LINA, WHO FELL IN THE ACTION OF SEPTEMBER 8, I781 At Eutaw Springs the valiant died; Their hmbs with dust are covered o'er — Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide; How many heroes are no more! If in this wreck of ruin they Can yet be thought to claim a tear, O smite your gentle breast, and say The friends of freedom slumber here! Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain, If goodness rules thy generous breast, lo Sigh for the wasted rural reign; Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest! Stranger, their humble graves adorn; You too may fall, and ask a tear; 'Tis not the beauty of the morn That proves the evening shall be clear. They saw their injured country's woe; The flaming town, the wasted held; Then rushed to meet the insulting foe; They took the spear — but left the shield.- 20 Led by thy conquering genius, Greene, The Britons they compelled to fly; None distant viewed the fatal plam. None grieved, in such a cause to die — But, like the Parthian, famed of old, Who, flying, still their arrows threw, These routed Britons, full as bold, Retreated, and retreating slew. Now rest in peace, our patriot band; Though far from nature's limits thrown, 30 We trust they And a happier land, A brighter sunshine of their own. • First published in FrcYman's Journal, 21 November, 1781. The number of .Americans lost, counting killed, wounded, and missing, was 554. 5 Sir Walter Scott praised this poem and also used this line in the introduction to Canto III oi Marmion (1. 64): "And snatched the spear but left the shield." THE POLITICAL BALANCES OR, THE FATES OF BRITAIN AND AMERICA COMPARED A TALE Deciding FateSy in Homer s styUy we shozvy And bring contending gods once more to view. As Jove the Olympian (whom both I and you know, \\ as brother to Neptune, and husband to Juno) Was lately reviewing his papers of state. He happened to light on the records of Fate: In Alphabet order this volume was written — So he opened at B, for the article Britain — She struggles so well, said the god, I will see What the sisters in Pluto's dominions decree. And flrst, on the top of a column he read "Of a king with a mighty soft place in his head, 10 Who should join in his temper the ass and the mule. The third of his name, and by far the worst fool: " His reign shall be famous for multiplication, The sire and the king of a whelp generation: But such is the will and the purpose of fate, For each child he begets he shall forfeit a State: "In the course of events, he shall find to his cost That he cannot regain what he foolishly lost; Of the nations around he shall be the de- rision. And know by experience the rule of Divi- sion." 20 So Jupiter read — a god of first rank — And still had read on — but he came to a blank: For the Fates had neglected the rest to reveal — They either forgot it, or chose to conceal: When a leaf is torn out, or a blot on a page That pleases our fancy, we fly in a rage — » First published in Freeman s Journal, 3 April, 1782. ig2 PHILIP FRENEAU So, curious to know what the Fates would say next. No wonder if Jove, disappointed, was vexed. Hut still as true genius not frequently fails. He glanced at the Virgin, and thought of the Scales;^ 30 And said, "To determine the will of the Fates, One scale shall weigh Britain, the other the States. Then turning to Vulcan, his makerof thunder, Said he, "My dear Vulcan, I pray you look yonder. Those creatures are tearing each other to pieces. And, instead of abating, the carnage in- creases. "Now, as you are a blacksmith, and lusty stout ham-eater, You must make me a globe of a shorter diameter; The world in abridgment, and just as it stands With all its proportions of waters and lands; 40 "But its various divisions must so be de- signed. That I can unhinge it whene'er I've a mind — How else should I know what the portions will weigh, Or which of the combatants carry the day?" Old Vulcan complied (we've no reason to doubt it), So he put on his apron and straight went about it — Made center, and circles as round as a pan- cake. And here the Pacific, and there the Atlantic. An axis he hammered, whose ends were the poles (On which the whole body perpetually rolls), 50 A brazen meridian he added to these, Where four times repeated were ninety degrees. * This sign of the zodiac stands next to the Virgin. I am sure you had laughed to have seen his droll attitude. When he bent round the surface the circles of latitude, The zones and the tropics, meridians, equator. And other fine things that are drawn on salt water. Away to the southward (instructed by Pallas) He placed in the ocean the Terra Australis, New Holland, New Guinea, and so of the rest — America lay by herself in the west: 60 From the regions where winter eternally reigns. To the climes of Peru he extended her plains; Dark groves, and the zones did her bosom adorn, And the Crosiers,^ new burnished, he hung at Cape Horn. The weight of two oceans she bore on her sides. With all their convulsions of tempests and tides; Vast lakes on her surface did fearfully roll. And the ice from her rivers surrounded the pole. Then Europe and Asia he northward ex- tended, Where under the Arctic with Zembla they ended 70 (The length of these regions he took with his garters, Including Siberia, the land of the Tartars). In the African clime (where the cocoa-nut tree grows) He laid down the deserts, and even the negroes, The shores by the weaves of four oceans em- braced. And elephants strolling about in the waste. In forming East India, he had a wide scope. Beginning his work at the cape of Good Hope; Then eastw^ard of that he continued his plan. Till he came to the empire and isles of Japan. 80 ' Stars, in the form of a cross, which mark the South Pole in southern latitudes. (Freneau's note.) THE POLITICAL BALANCE 193 Adjacent to Europe he struck up an island (One part of it low, but the other was high land), With many a comical creature upon it, And one wore a hat, and another a bonnet. Like emmets or ants in a fine summer's day, They ever were marching in battle array, Or skipping about on the face of the brine. Like witches in egg-shells (their ships of the line). These poor little creatures were all in a flame. To the lands of America urging their claim, 90 Still biting, or stinging, or spreading their sails (For Vulcan had formed them with stings in their tails). So poor and so lean, you might count all their ribs.i Yet were so enraptured with crackers and squibs, That Vulcan with laughter almost split asunder, "Because they imagined their crackers were thunder." Due westward from these, with a channel between, A servant to slaves, Hibernia was seen, Once crowded with monarchs, and high in renown. But all she retained was the Harp and the Crown! 100 Insulted for ever by nobles and priests, And managed by bullies, and governed by beasts. She looked! — to describe her I hardly know how — Such an image of death in the scowl on her brow. For scaffolds and halters were full in her view. And the fiends of perdition their cutlasses drew: And axes and gibbets around her were placed, And the demons of murder her honors defaced. * Their national debt being now above £200,000,000 sterling. (Freneau's note.) With the blood of the worthy her mantle was stained, And hardly a trace of her beauty re- mained, no Her genius, a female, reclined in the shade, And, sick of oppression, so mournfully played. That Jove was uneasy to hear her complain, And ordered his blacksmith to loosen her chain: Then tipped her a wink, saying, "Now is your time (To rebel is the sin, to revolt is no crime), When your fetters are off, if you dare not be free Be a slave and be damned, but complain not to me." But finding her timid, he cried in a rage — "Though the doors are flung open, she stays in the cage! 120 Subservient to Britain then let her remain. And her freedom shall be but the choice of her chain." At length, to discourage all stupid preten- sions, Jove looked at the globe, and approved its dimensions. And cried in a transport — "Why what have we here! Friend Vulcan, it is a most beautiful sphere! "Now while I am busy in taking apart This globe that is formed with such exquisite art, Go, Hermes, to Libra (you're one of her gallants). And ask, in my name, for the loan of her balance." 130 Away posted Hermes, as swift as the gales, And as swiftly returned with the ponderous scales, And hung them aloft to a beam in the air, So equally poised, they had turned with a hair. Now Jove to Columbia his shoulders applied, But aiming to lift her, his strength she defied — Then, turning about to their godships, he says: "A body so vast is not easy to raise; 104 PHILIP FRENEAU " But if you assist me, I still have a notion Our forces, united, can put her in motion, 140 And swins Ikt aloft (though alone I mij^iit fail). And place her, in spite of her bulk, in our scale; "If six years together the Congress have strove. And more than divided the empire with Jove; With a Jove like myself, who am nine times as great. You can join, like their soldiers, to heave up this weight." So to it they went, with hand-spikes and levers, And upward she sprung, with her mountains and rivers! Rocks, cities, and islands, deep waters and shallows, Ships, armies, and forests, high heads and fine fellows: 150 "Stick to it!" cries Jove, "now heave one and all! At least we are lifting 'one-eighth of the ball'! If backward she tumbles — then trouble begins. And then have a care, my dear boys, of your shins!" When gods are determined what project can fail? So they gave a hard shove, and she mounted the scale; Suspended aloft, Jove viewed her with awe — And the gods,i for their pay, had a hearty — huzza! But Neptune bawled out — "Why Jove you're a noddy. Is Britain sufficient to poise that vast body? 160 *Tis nonsense such castles to build in the air — As well might an oyster with Britain com- >> pare. "Away to your waters, you blustering bully," Said Jove, "or I'll make you repent of your folly. » American soldiers. (Freneaii's note.) Is Jupiter, Sir, to be tutored by you? — Get out of my sight, for I know what to do!" Then searching about with his fingers for Britain, Thought he, "This same island I cannot well hit on; The devil take him who first called her the Great: If she was — she is vastly diminished of late!" 170 Like a man that is searching his thigh for a flea. He peeped and he fumbled, but nothing could see; At last he exclaimed: "I am surely upon it — I think I have hold of a Highlander's bonnet." But finding his error, he said with a sigh, "This bonnet is only the island of Skie!"2 So away to his namesake the planet he goes, And borrowed two moons to hang on his nose. Through these, as through glasses, he saw her quite clear. And in raptures cried out: "I have found her — she's here! 180 If this be not Britain, then call me an ass — She looks like a gem in an ocean of glass. "But, faith, she's so small I must mind how I shake her; In a box I'll enclose her, for fear I should break her: Though a god, I might suffer for being aggressor, Since scorpions, and vipers, and hornets possess her; "The white cliffs of Albion I think I descry — ■ And the hills of Plinlimmon appear rather nigh— But, Vulcan, inform me what creatures are these. That smell so of onions, and garlic, and cheese?" 190 Old Vulcan replied — "Odds splutter a nails! Why, these are the Welsh, and the country is Wales! 2 An island on the north-west of Scotland. (Fre- neau's note.) THE POLITICAL BALANCP: 195 When Taffy is vexed, no devil is ruder — Take care how you trouble the offspring of Tudor! "On the crags of the mountains hur living hur seeks, Hur country is planted with garlic and leeks; So great is hur choler, beware how you tease hur. For these are the Britons — unconquered by Caesar." Jove peeped through his moons, and ex- amined their features, And said: "By my truth, they are wonderful creatures, 200 The beards are so long that encircle their throats. That (unless they are Welshmen) I swear they are goats. ** But now, my dear Juno, pray give me my mittens (These insects I am going to handle are Britons), I'll draw up their isle with a finger and thumb. As the doctor extracts an old tooth from the gum." Then he raised her aloft — but to shorten our tale, She looked like a clod in the opposite scale — Britannia so small, and Columbia so large — A ship of first rate, and a ferryman's barge! Cried Pallas to Vulcan: "Why, Jove's in a dream — 211 Observe how he watches the turn of the beam! Was ever a mountain outweighed by a grain! Or what is a drop when compared to the But Momus alleged: "In my humble opin- ion, You should add to Great Britain her foreign dominion, When this is appended, perhaps she will rise, And equal her rival in weight and in size." **Alas!" said the monarch, "your project is vain, But little is left of her foreign domain; 220 And, scattered about in the licjuid expanse. That little is left to the mercy of France. "However, we'll lift them, and give her fair play"— And soon in the scale with their mistress they lay; But the gods were confounded and struck with surprise, And Vulcan could hardly believe his own eyes! For (such was the purpose and guidance of fate) Her foreign dominions diminished her weight — By which it appeared, to Britain's disaster. Her foreign possessions were changing their master. 230 Then, as he replaced them, said Jove with a smile: "Columbia shall never be ruled by an isle — But vapors and darkness around her may rise, And tempests conceal her awhile from our eyes; "So locusts in Egypt their squadrons dis- play. And rising, disfigure the face of the day; So the moon, at her full, has a frequent eclipse. And the sun in the ocean diurnally dips. "Then cease your endeavors, ye vermin of Britain" (And here, in derision, their island he spit on); 240 "'Tis madness to seek what you never can find, Or to think of uniting what nature disjoined; " But still you may flutter awhile with your wings. And spit out your venom and brandish your stings: Your hearts are as black and as bitter as gall, A curse to mankind — and a blot on the Ball."^ 1 It is hoped that such a sentiment may not be deemed wholly illiberal. Every candid person will certainly draw a line between a brave and magnanimous people and a most vicious and vitiating government. (Freneau's note.) iq6 rillLIP FRENEAU ON CAPTAIN BARNEY'S VICTORY OVER THE SHIP GENERAL MONK' O'er the waste of waters cruising, Long tlie General Monk had reigned; All subduing, all reducing, None licr lawless rage restrained' Many a brave and hearty fellow, "^'ielding to this warlike foe, When her guns began to bellow Struck his humbled colors low. But grown bold with long successes, Leaving the wide watery way, lo She, a stranger to distresses, Came to cruise within Cape May: "Now we soon," said Captain Rogers, "Shall their men of commerce meet; In our hold we'll have them lodgers. We shall capture half their fleet. "Lo! I see their van appearing — • Back our topsails to the mast — ■ They toward us full are steering With a gentle western blast: 20 I've a list of all their cargoes. All their guns, and all their men: I am sure these modern Argos Can't escape us one in ten: "Yonder comes the Charming Sally Sailing with the General Greene — First we'll fight the Ilyder AH, Taking her is taking them: She intends to give us battle, Bearing down with all her sail — 30 Now, boys, let our cannon rattle! To take her we cannot fail. "Our eighteen guns, each a nine-pounder, Soon shall terrify this foe; We shall maul her, we shall wound her. Bringing rebel colors low." While he thus anticipated Conquests that he could not gain, He in the Cape May channel waited For the ship that caused his pain. 40 Captain Barney then preparing. Thus addressed his gallant crew — "Now, brave lads, be bold and daring, Let your hearts be firm and true; 1 First published in Freeman s Journaly 8 May, 178a. This is a proud English cruiser. Roving up and down the main, We must fight her — must reduce her. Though our decks be strewed with slain. "Let who will be the survivor. We must conquer or must die, 50 We must take her up the river, Whate'er comes of you or I: Though she shows most formidable With her eighteen pointed nines. And her quarters clad in sable. Let us balk her proud designs. "With four nine-pounders, and twelve sixes We will face that daring band; Let no dangers damp your courage Nothing can the brave withstand. 60 Fighting for your country's honor, Now to gallant deeds aspire; Helmsman, bear us down upon her, Gunner, give the word to fire!" Then yard-arm and yard-arm meeting. Straight began the dismal fray, Cannon mouths, each other greeting. Belched their smoky flames away: Soon the langrage,^ grape, and chain shot. That from Barney's cannons flew, 70 Swept the Monky and cleared each round top, Killed and wound-ed half her crew. Captain Rogers strove to rally. But they from their quarters fled. While the roaring Hyder AH Covered o'er his decks with dead. When from their tops their dead men tumbled, And the streams of blood did flow. Then their proudest hopes were humbled By their brave inferior foe. 80 All aghast, and all confounded. They beheld their champions fall. And their captain, sorely wounded. Bade them quick for quarters call. Then the Monk's proud flag descended. And her cannon ceased to roar; By her crew no more defended. She confessed the contest o'er. 2 Kind of shot at this time used for tearing sails and rigging. TO AN AUTHOR 197 Come, brave boys, and fill your glasses, You have humbled one proud foe; 90 No brave action this surpasses. Fame shall tell the nations so. Thus be Britain's woes completed. Thus abridged her cruel reign, Till she ever, thus defeated, Yields the scepter of the main. THE WILD HONEY SUCKLE ^ Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in this silent, dull retreat. Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, Unseen thy little branches greet: No roving foot shall crush thee here. No busy hand provoke a tear. By Nature's self in white arrayed, She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, And planted here the guardian shade. And sent soft waters murmuring by; 10 Thus quietly thy summer goes. Thy days declining to repose. Smit with those charms, that must decay, I grieve to see your future doom; They died — nor were those flowers more gay, The flowers that did in Eden bloom; Unpitying frosts, and Autumn's power. Shall leave no vestige of this flower. From morning suns and evening dews At first thy little being came: 20 If nothing once, you nothing lose, For when you die you are the same; The space between, is but an hour, The frail duration of a flower. TO AN AUTHORS Your leaves bound up compact and fair. In neat array at length prepare To pass their hour on learning's stage, To meet the surly critic's rage; The statesman's slight, the smatterer's sneer — • 1 First published in Freeman's Journal^ 2 August, 1786. 2 First published in collective edition of 1788. Were these, indeed, your only fear. You might be tranquil and resigned: What most should touch your fluttering mind Is that few critics will be found lo sift your works, and deal the wound. 10 Thus, when one fleeting year is past On some bye-shelf your book is cast — Another comes, with something new. And drives you fairly out of view: With some to praise, but more to blame. The mind returns to — whence it came; And some alive, who scarce could read Will publish satires on the dead. The muse of love in no request — Go — try your fortune with the rest, One of the nine you should engage. To meet the follies of the age. On one, we fear, your choice must fall, The least engaging of them all; Her visage stern — an angry style — A clouded brow — malicious smile — A mind on murdered victims placed — She, only she, can please the taste! 20 Thrice happy Dryden, who could meet Some rival bard in every street! When all were bent on writing well It was some credit to excel! Thrice happy Dryden, who could find A Milbourne for his sport designed — And Pope, who saw the harmless rage Of Dennis bursting o'er his page, Might justly spurn the critic's aim. Who only helped to swell his fame. On these bleak climes by Fortune thrown, Where rigid Reason reigns alone, 30 Where lovely Fancy has no sway, Nor magic forms about us play, Nor nature takes her summer hue, Tell me, what has the muse to do.f" An age employed in edging steel Can no poetic raptures feel; No solitude's attracting power. No leisure of the noonday hour. No shaded stream, no quiet grove Can this fantastic century move. 40 SO iqS PHILIP FRENEAU THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND^ In spite of all the learn'd have said, I still my old opinion keep; The posture that we give the dead. Points out the soul's eternal sleep. Not so the ancients of these lands — The Indian, when from life released, Again is seated with his friends. And shares again the joyous feast. - His imaged birds, and painted bowl. And venison, for a journey dressed, lo Bespeak the nature of the soul. Activity, that knows no rest. His bow, for action ready bent. And arrows, with a head of stone, Can only mean that life is spent, And not the old ideas gone. Thou, stranger, that shalt come this way, No fraud upon the dead commit — Observe the swelling turf, and say They do not lie, but here they sit. 20 Here still a lofty rock remains, On which the curious eye may trace (Now wasted, half, by wearing rains) The fancies of a ruder race. Here still an aged elm aspires. Beneath whose far-projecting shade (And which the shepherd still admires) The children of the forest played! There oft a restless Indian queen (Pale Shebah, with her braided hair) .And many a barbarous form is seen To chide the man that lingers there. 30 By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews, In habit for the chase arrayed. The hunter still the deer pursues. The hunter and the deer, a shadel- > First published in collective edition of 1788. *The North American Indians bury their dead in a sitting posture, decorating the corpse with wampum, the images of birds, quadrupeds, etc.\ and Cif that of a warrior) with bows, arrows, tomahawks, and other inilitan»' weapons. "Treneau's note.) > Thomas Campbell borrowed this line, using it in the fourth stanza of his poem entitled O'Connor's Child. And long shall timorous fancy see The painted chief, and pointed spear, .And Reason's self shall bow the knee To shadows and delusions here. 40 ODE< God save the Rights of Man! Give us a heart to scan Blessings so dear; Let them be spread around Wherever man is found, And with the welcome sound Ravish his ear. Let us with France agree. And bid the world be free, While tyrants fall! Let the rude savage host Of their vast numbers boast- Freedom's almighty trust Laughs at them all! Though hosts of slaves conspire To quench fair Gallia's fire. Still shall they fail: Though traitors round her rise. Leagued with her enemies. To war each patriot flies. And will prevail. No more is valor's flame Devoted to a name, Taught to adore — Soldiers of Liberty Disdain to 'bow the knee, But teach Equality To every shore. The world at last will join To aid thy grand design. Dear Liberty! To Russia's frozen lands The generous flame expands: On Afric's burning sands Shall man be free! In this our western world Be Freedom's flag unfurled Through all its shores! 10 20 30 < First published, as far as is known, in collective edition of 1*95, but said to have been sung at the November Festival of the London Revolution Society in 1 791. It was sung at the Civic Feast held in honor of Citizen Genet in Philadelphia on i June, 1793. ON IHK ANNINKRSARV 199 May no destructive blast Our heaven of jt)y o'ercast, 40 May Freedom's fabric last While time endures. If e'er her cause require! — Should tyrants e'er aspire To aim their stroke, May no proud despot daunt — Should he his standard plant, Freedom will never want Her heart of oak! ON A HONEY BEE^ DRINKING FROM A GLASS OF WINE AND DROWNED THEREIN Thou, born to sip the lake or spring. Or quafl the waters of the stream, Why hither come on vagrant wing? — Does Bacchus tempting seem — Did he, for you, this glass prepare? — Will 1 admit you to a share? Did storms harass or foes perplex. Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay — Did wars distress, or labors vex, Or did you miss your way? — 10 A better seat you could not take Than on the margin of this lake. W^elcome! — I hail you to my glass: All welcome, here, you find; Here, let the cloud of trouble pass, Here, be all care resigned. This fluid never fails to please, And drown the griefs of men or bees. What forced you here, we cannot know. And you will scarcely tell — 20 But cheery we would have you go And bid a glad farewell: On lighter wings we bid you fly. Your dart will now all foes defy. Yet take not, oh! too deep a drink. And in this ocean die; Here bigger bees than you might sink. Even bees full six feet high. Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said To perish in a sea of red. 30 1 Published in the collective edition of 1809. Do as you please, your will is mine; Enjoy it without fear — And your grave will be this glass of wine, \'our epitaph — a tear — Go, take your seat in Charon's boat. We'll tell the hive, you died afloat. ON THE ANNIVERSARY^ OF THE STORMING OF THE BASTILLE, AV PARIS, 14 JULY, 1789 The chiefs that bow to Capet's reign. In mourning, now, their weeds display; But we, that scorn a monarch's chain, Combine to celebrate the day To Freedom's birth that put the seal. And laid in dust the proud Bastille. To Gallia's rich and splendid crown. This mighty Day gave such a blow As Time's recording hand shall own No former age had power to do: 10 No single gem some Brutus stole, But instant ruin seized the whole. Now tyrants rise, once more to bind In royal chains a nation freed — Vain hope! for they, to death consigned, Shall soon, like perjured Louis, bleed: O'er every king, o'er every (lueen, Fate hangs the sword, and guillotine. "Plunged in a gulf of deep distress France turns her back (so traitors say); 20 Kings, priests, and nobles, round her press. Resolved to seize their destined prey: Thus Europe swears (in arms combined) To Poland's doom is France consigned." Yet those, who now are tlunight so low From concjuests that were basely gained. Shall rise tremendous from the blow And free Two Worlds, that still are chained, Restrict the Briton to his isle. And Freedom plant in every soil. 30 Ye sons of this degenerate clime, Haste, arm the bark, exp:ind the sail; Assist to speed that golden time When Frei'dom rules, and monarchs fail; All left to 1' ranee — new powers may join. And help to crush the cause divine. 2 First published in National Gazette, 17 July, 1793. 200 PHILIP FRENEAU All! wliile I write, dear France Allied, My anient wish I scarce restrain, To throw these Sybil leaves aside, And Hy to join you on the main: 40 I'nfurl the topsail for the chase And help to crush the tyrant race! THE REPUBLICAN GENIUS OF EUROPE^ Emperors and kin^s! in vain you strive Your torments to conceal — The age is come that shakes your thrones, Tramples in dust despotic crowns And bids the scepter fail. In western worlds the flame began: From thence to France it flew — Tiirough Europe, now, it takes its way, Beams an insufferable day. And lays all tyrants low. 10 Genius of France! pursue the cnase Till Reason's laws restore Man to be Man, in every clime; — That Being, active, great, sublime, Debased in dust no more. In dreadful pomp he takes his way O'er ruined crowns, demolished thrones — Pale tyrants shrink before his blaze — Round him terrific lightnings play — W ith eyes of fire, he looks them through. Crushes the vile despotic crew, 21 And Pride in ruin lays. TO A CATY-DID2 In a branch of willow hid Sings the evening Caty-did: From the lofty locust bough Feeding on a drop of dew. In her suit of green arrayed Hear her singing in the shade Caty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did! While upon a leaf you tread, Or repose your little head. On your sheet of shadows laid, 10 All the day you nothing said: Half the night your cheery tongue Reveled out its little song. Nothing else but Caty-did. ' First published in Jersey Chronicle, 23 May, 1795. 'Published in collective edition of 1815. P rom your lodgings on the leaf Did you utter joy or grief.'' Did you only mean to say, I have had my summer's day. And am passing, soon, away To the grave of Caty-did: — 20 Poor, unhappy Caty-did! But you would have uttered more Had you known of nature's power — From the world when you retreat. And a leaf's your winding sheet Long before your spirit fled. Who can tell but nature said, Live again, my Caty-did! Live, and chatter Caty-did. Tell me, what did Caty do? 30 Did she mean to trouble you.?— Why was Caty not forbid To trouble little Caty-did? — Wrong, indeed at you to fling, Hurting no one while you sing Caty-did ! Caty-did ! Caty-did 1 Why continue to complain? Caty tells me, she again Will not give you plague or pain: — Caty says you may be hid; 40 Caty will not go to bed While you sing us Caty-did. Caty-did! Caty-did! Caty-did! But, while singing, you forgot To tell us what did Caty not: Caty-did not think of cold. Flocks retiring to the fold. Winter, v/ith his wrinkles old. Winter, that yourself foretold When you gave us Caty-did. 50 Stay securely in your nest; Caty now will do her best. All she can to make you bless'd; But, you want no human aid — Nature, when she formed you, said, "Independent you are made. My dear little Caty-did: Soon yourself must disappear With the verdure of the year," — And to go, we know not where, 60 With your song of Caty-did. WASHINGTON IRVING (1783-1859) "The first ambassador whom the New World of Letters sent to the Old" — the description is Thackeray's— was born in New York on 3 April, 1783. His father was a merchant, honest and blame- less in his life, but severe and devoted to a stern religion — so devoted that he would have had his children believe that all pleasures were sinful. Mrs. Irving was of softer, gentler temper, like Wash- ington, her youngest and eleventh child. Thanks to her the child was tenderly brought up. In his boyhood he was mischievous and an indifferent student, though an eager reader of such narra- tives of adventure as he could find. In 1799, after he had attended for varying periods some four different schools, he entered a law oflice to prepare himself for a legal career. His study was not over-zealous and was much interrupted — by literary reading, which included novels by Mrs. Rad- cliffe and Sterne's Sentimental Journey, by attempts at essay-writing, by social diversion, and by travel. It was owing to poor health that he was sent abroad in 1804, where he traveled in Sicily, Italy, France, Holland, and England, returning to America early in 1806. In the fall of the same year he was admitted to the bar, rather, it has been thought, because of the friendship of one of his exam- iners than because of his knowledge of the law. He never made more than a vague pretense at the practice of his profession, but instead gave himself over to a gay social life, fell in love with a beautiful young girl, Matilda Hoffman, and joined his brother and a friend in writing a series of essays, 5^/- magundiy imitative of Addison's Spectator, to "amuse, edify, and castigate the town." The castigation was mild and the town was genuinely amused. Following this success, Irving, with another brother, undertook to write a parody of "a small handbook which had recently appeared, entitled A Picture of New York.'* Presently the brother went to Europe, and Irving, working on alone, altered the plan, so that the book became a humorous History of New York from the Beginning of the fVorld to the End of the Dutch Dynasty, by Diedrich Knickerbocker. It was published in December, 1809. Earlier in the same year Matilda Hoffman had died, causing Irving grief which was deep and not easily for- gotten, but which has been exaggerated by most of his biographers. In 1810 he was taken into their hardware business by his brothers, their object being to give him an income, but to leave him free for literary work. Though during the next few years he was connected with two periodicals, he did little writing, and chiefly used his freedom to enjoy social life. His most recent biographer (G. S. Hellman) believes that during this period Irving proposed marriage to a Scotchwoman some years his senior but, if he did so, his proposal was rejected. In the late spring of 1815 he sailed for Liverpool, where one of his brothers conducted the English establishment of the firm. He expected to remain in England only a few months, but in fact did not return to America until seventeen years later. His brother in Liverpool had become practically an invalid, and Irving took charge of the business, but was able also to travel occasionally. His circle of acquaintance, always wide, soon included Thomas Campbell, Francis Jeffrey, editor of the Edinburgh Review, and Sir Walter Scott. In 1818 the Irving firm, which had been suffering from unset- tled business conditions, became bankrupt, and Irving now had, for the first time, to face the prob- lem of earning a living. After a period of distress and hesitation he determined to try to make his way by writing, and began the series of essays which was published in seven numbers, or parts, in 1819-1820, with the title. The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. The book was an immediate and great success in both America and England, and it seemed that Irving would have no difficulty in earning his living by his pen. For many years, however, he was more or less embarrassed finan- cially, because he was almost uniformly unfortunate in the speculations into which he ventured with the large profits from this and succeeding volumes. Bracebridge Hall was published in 1822, and Tales of a Traveler in 1824. Meanwhile in 1821 Irving had left England for the Continent, had spent some time in Paris, and then had traveled in Germany, where, in the winter of 1822-1823, he had met an English girl, Emily Foster, whom he had sought to marry. Probably he continued for several years to press his suit, but without success. In 1826 he went to Madrid as a member of the American legation, and began work upon his History of the Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus (published 1828). He trav- eled extensively in Spain, visiting the Alhambra in 1828, and living there for some time in 1829. In the latter year his Chronicle of the Coyiquest of Granada was published, and he returned to England to 201 202 WASHINGTON IRVING hi'comc sccrctnry of the legation in I.omion. His continued success and increasing reputation were sicnalizcd by high honors, which inchidcd a D.C.L. from Oxford in 1S31. In the same year the Ital- ian f'oxiii^rs anJ Discovrrirs oj the Companions of Columbus was puhHshed, and in 1832 The .llhambra. In this year also Irving returned to New "^'ork, where he met with an overwhelming reception. He continued, however, to he a wanderer, travehng in the West and South. In 1836 he settled in the house at Tarrytown, on the Hudson, which he later called "Sunnyside." About this time were pub- lished several hooks resulting from his Western travels— notably A Tour of the Prairies (1835). Irving was now and later embarrassed by multiplied indications of his eminence, and had to decline two invi- tations to high public office, as well as many lesser invitations. As early as 1838 he began to work upon his Life of Geori^e If'ashington. In 1841 he accepted appointment as American Minister to Spain, and from 1842 until 1846 he was again in Europe. During the remaining years of his life he pub- lished his books on Goldsmith (1849), Mahomet (1849-1850), and Washington (1855-1859), besides other volumes. He died at "Sunnyside" on 28 November, 1859. Irving's mild, gentle, companionable nature gave him a multitude of warm friends and, com- municated to his books, made him perhaps the best loved, as well as one of the most highly honored, of nineteenth-century writers. He probably never understood his father's austere Calvinism, but he felt and resented the conscientious officiousness w-hich seemed to be its chief outward sign. Given his own character, his conclusion was inevitable: "For my part, I have not so bad an opinion of man- kind as many of my brother philosophers. I do not think poor human nature so sorry a piece of workmanship as they would make it out to be; and as far as I have observed, I am fully satisfied that man, if left to himself, would about as readily go right as wrong." His bent was for worldly enjoyment and the cultivation of sentiment, and he gave himself free rein, with at least innocent results. Thomas Moore, after unsuccessful attempts to exhibit Irving to several acquaintances, wrote that he was "not strong as a lion, but delightful as a domestic animal." Francis Jeffrey, a friendly and appreciative critic, pointed out that the sweetness and charm which made him thus delightful were, if unrelieved, in danger of proving insipid. Mildness and gentleness are well, but we want, too, positive force. Irving, however, shrank from the actual world about him. As a boy he loved what was picturesque, strange, and distant. As a young man he seized upon the Dutch past of New York as its "poetic age, . . . poetic from its very obscurit}'," and he sought "to clothe home scenes and places and familiar names with those imaginative and whimsical associations so seldom met with in our new country, but which live like charms and spells about the cities of the old world, binding the heart of the native inhabitant to his home." In this aim he was at the time eminently successful, though Knickerbocker's History is immature, diffuse, and no longer really readable as a whole. But again, in those of his writings which still secure his fame because of their intrinsic worth — in Rip Fan fFinkle, the English essays, and The Alhambra — Irving finds himself most at home in an imaginative or legendary past. Indeed, one is not far wrong who thinks of him as a gracious ambassador, to us an ambassador from the world of sentimental fancy, as he was in his own time an ambassador who succeeded remarkably' in creating friendly feeling for America in England and Europe. THE SKETCH BOOK THE AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF "I am of this mind with Homer, that as the snaile that crept out of her shel was turned eft- soons into a toad, and thereby was forced to make a stoole to sit on; so the traveller that stragleth from his owne country is in a short time trans- formed into so monstrous a shape, that he is faine to alter his mansion with his manners, and to live where he can, not where he would." Lyly's Euphues. I WAS always fond of visiting new scenes, and observing strange characters and man- ners. Even when a mere child I began my travels, and made many tours of discovery into foreign parts and unknown regions of my native city, to the frequent alarm of my parents and the emolument of the town- crier. As I grew into boyhood, I extended the range of my observations. My holiday afternoons were spent in rambles about the surrounding country. I made myself familiar with all its places famous in history or fable. I knew every spot where a murder or robbery had been committed, or a ghost seen. I visited the neighboring villages, and added greatly to my stock of knowledge, by noting their habits and customs, and con- versing with their sages and great men. I even journeyed one long summer's day to the summit of the most distant hill, whence I stretched my eye over many a mile of terra incognita, and was astonished to find how vast a globe I inhabited. THE SKETCH BOOK 203 This ramblinc; propensity strengthened with my years. Books ofvoyajjes and trav- els became my passion, and in devouring their contents I neglected the regular ex- ercises of the school. How wistfully would I wander about the pier-heads in fine weather, and watch the parting ships, bound to dis- tant climes; with what longing eyes would I gaze after their lessening sails, and waft myself in imagination to the ends of the earth! Further reading and thinking, though they brought this vague inclination into more reasonable bounds, only served to make it more decided. I visited various parts of my own country; and had I been merely a lover of fine scenery, I should have felt little desire to seek elsewhere its gratification, for on no country have the charms of nature been more prodigally lavished. Her mighty lakes, like oceans of liquid silver; her moun- tains, with their bright aerial tints; her val- valleys, teeming with wild fertility; her tremendous cataracts, thundering in their solitudes; her boundless plains, waving with spontaneous verdure; her broad deep rivers, rolling in solemn silence to the ocean; her trackless forests, where vegetation puts forth all its magnificence; her skies, kin- dling with the magic of summer clouds and glorious sunshine; — no, never need an American look beyond his own country for the sublime and beautiful of natural scenery. But Europe held forth the charms of sto- ried and poetical association. There were to be seen the masterpieces of art, the refine- ments of highly cultivated society, the quaint peculiarities of ancient and local custom. My native country was full of youthful prom- ise: Europe was rich in the accumulated treasures of age. Her very ruins told the his- tory of times gone by, and every moldering stone was a chronicle. I longed to wander over the scenes of renowned achievement — to tread, as it were, in the footsteps of an- tiquity— to loiter about the ruined castle — to meditate on the falling tower — to escape, in short, from the commonplace realities of the present, and lose myself among the shadowy grandeurs of the past. I had, beside all this, an earnest desire to see the great men of the earth. We have, it is true, our great men in America: not a city but has an ample share of them. I have mingled among them in my time, and been almost withered by the shade into which they cast me; for there is nothing so baleful to a small man as the shade of a great one, particularly the great man of a city. But I was anxious to see the great men of Europe; for' I had read in the works of various phi- losophers, that all animals degenerated in America, and man among the number. A great man of Europe, thought I, must there- fore be as superior to a great man of America as a peak of the Alps to a highland of the Hud- son, and in this idea I was confirmed, by ob- serving the comparative importance and swell- ing magnitude of many English travelers among us, who, I was assured, were very little people in their own country. I will visit this land of wonders, thought I, and see the gigantic race from w^hich I am degener- ated. It has been either my good or evil lot to have my roving passion gratified. I have wandered through different countries, and witnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. I cannot say that I have studied them with the eye of a philosopher; but rather with the sauntering gaze with which humble lovers of the picturesque stroll from the win- dow of one print-shop to another; caught sometimes by the delineations of beauty, sometimes by the distortions of caricature, and sometimes by the loveliness of land- scape. As it is the fashion for modern tour- ists to travel pencil in hand, and bring home their portfolios filled with sketches, I am disposed to get up a few for the entertain- ment of my friends. When, however, I look over the hints and memorandums I have taken down for the purpose, my heart almost fails me at finding how my idle humor has led me aside from the great objects studied by every regular traveler who would make a book. I fear I shall give equal disappoint- ment with an unlucky landscape painter, who had traveled on the continent, but, following the bent of his vagrant inclina- tion, had sketched in nooks and corners and by-places. His sketch-book was accordingly crowded with cottages and landscapes and obscure ruins; but he had neglected to paint St. Peter's, or the Coliseum; the Cascade of Terni, or the Bay of Naples; and had not a single glacier or volcano in his whole collec- tion. 204 WASHINGTON IRVING ENGLISH WRllERS ON AMERICA "Mcthinks I sec In my mind a noble and puissant nation, rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks; methinks I see her as an eagle, mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam." Milton on the Libkrty of the Press.' It is with feelings of deep regret that I observe the literary animosity daily grow- ing up between England and America. Great curiosity has been awakened of late with respect to the United States, and the London press has teemed with volumes of travels through the Republic; but they seem intended to diffuse error rather than knowl- edge; and so successful have they been, that, notwithstanding the constant intercourse be- tween the nations, there is no people con- cerning whom the great mass of the British public have less pure information, or enter- tain more numerous prejudices. English travelers are the best and the worst in the world. Where no motives of pride or interest intervene, none can equal them for profound and philosophical views of society, or faithful and graphical descrip- tions of external objects; but when either the interest or reputation of their own country comes in collision with that of another, they go to the opposite extreme, and forget their usual probity and candor, in the indulgence of splenetic remark and an illiberal spirit of ridicule. Hence, their travels are more honest and accurate, the more remote the country des- cribed. I would place implicit confidence in an Englishman's descriptions of the re- gions beyond the cataracts of the Nile; of unknown islands in the Yellow Sea; of the interior of India; or of any other tract w^hich other travelers might be apt to picture out with the illusions of their fancies; but I would cautiously receive his account of his immediate neighbors, and of those nations with which he is in habits of most frequent intercourse. However I might be disposed to trust his probity, I dare not trust his prejudices. It has also been the particular lot of our country to be visited by the w^orst kind of English travelers. While men of philosoph- 1 I.e., Areopagitica. ical spirit and cultivated minds have been sent from England to ransack the poles, to penetrate the deserts, and to study the man- ners and customs of barbarous nations with which she can have no permanent inter- course of profit or pleasure; it has been left to the broken-down tradesman, the schem- ing adventurer, the wandering mechanic, the Manchester and Birmingham agent, to be her oracles respecting America. Erom such sources she is content to receive her in- formation respecting a country in a singular state of moral and physical development; a country in which one of the greatest polit- ical experiments in the history of the world is now performing; and which presents the most profound and momentous studies to the statesman and the philosopher. That such men should give prejudicial ac- counts of America is not a matter of surprise. The themes it offers for contemplation are too vast and elevated for their capacities. The national character is yet in a state of fermentation; it may have its frothiness and sediment, but its ingredients are sound and wholesome; it has already given proofs of powerful and generous qualities; and the whole promises to settle down into some- thing substantially excellent. But the causes which are operating to strengthen and en- noble it, and its daily indications of admir- able properties, are all lost upon these pur- blind observers; who are only affected by the little asperities incident to its present sit- uation. They are capable of judging only of the surface of things; of those matters which come in contact with their private interests and personal gratifications. They miss some of the snug conveniences and petty comforts which belong to an old, highly finished, and over-populous state of society; where the ranks of useful labor are crowded, and many earn a painful and servile sub- sistence by studying the very caprices of appetite and self-indulgence. These minor comforts, however, are all-important in the estimation of narrow minds; which either do not perceive, or will not acknowledge, that they are more than counterbalanced among us by great and generally diffused blessings. They may, perhaps, have been disap- pointed in some unreasonable expectation of sudden gain. They may have pictured Amer- ica to themselves an EI Dorado, where gold THE SKETCH BOOK 205 and silver abounded and the natives were lacking in sagacity; and where they were to become strangely and suddenly rich in some unforeseen but easy manner. The same weak- ness of mind that indulges absurd expec- tations produces petulance in disappoint- ment. Such persons become embittered against the country on finding that there, as everywhere else, a man must sow before he can reap; must win wealth by industry and talent; and must contend with the common difficulties of nature and the shrewdness of an intelligent and enterprising people. Perhaps, through mistaken or ill-directed hospitality, or from the prompt disposition to cheer and countenance the stranger, prev- alent among my countrymen, they may have been treated with unwonted respect in America; and having been accustomed all their lives to consider themselves below the surface of good society, and brought up in a servile feeling of inferiority, they become arrogant on the common boon of civility; they attribute to the lowliness of others their own elevation; and underrate a society where there are no artificial distinctions, and where by any chance such individuals as them- selves can rise to consequence. One would suppose, however, that infor- mation coming from such sources, on a sub- ject where the truth is so desirable, would be received with caution by the censors of the press; that the motives of these men, their veracity, their opportunities of inquiry and observation, and their capacities for judg- ing correctly, would be rigorously scruti- nized before their evidence was admitted in such sweeping extent against a kindred na- tion. The very reverse, however, is the case, and it furnishes a striking instance of human inconsistency. Nothing can surpass the vigi- lance with which English critics will examine the credibility of the traveler who publishes an account of some distant and compara- tively unimportant country. How warily will they compare the measurements of a pyramid or the descriptions of a ruin; and how sternly will they censure any inaccuracy in these contributions of merely curious knowledge: while they will receive, with eagerness and unhesitating faith, the gross misrepresentations of coarse and obscure writers, concerning a country with which their own is placed in the most important and delicate relations. Nay, they will even make these apocryphal volumes text-books, oa which to enlarge with a zeal and an ability worthy of a more generous cause. I shall not, however, dwell on this irksome and hackneyed topic; nor should I have ad- verted to it, but for the undue interest ap- parently taken in it by my countrymen, and certain injurious effects which I apprehend it might produce upon the national feeling. We attach too much consequence to these attacks. They cannot do us any essential injury. The tissue of misrepresentations attempted to be woven round us are like cobwebs woven round the limbs of an infant giant. Our country continually outgrows them. One falsehood after another falls off of itself. We have but to live on, and every day we live a whole volume of refutation. All the writers of England united, if we could for a moment suppose their great minds stooping to so unworthy a combina- tion, could not conceal our rapidly growing importance and matchless prosperity. They could not conceal that these are owing, not merely to physical and local, but also to moral causes, — to the political liberty, the gen- eral diffusion of knowledge, the prevalence of sound moral and religious principles, which give force and sustained energy to the char- acter of a people; and which, in fact, have been the acknowledged and wonderful sup- porters of their own national power and glory. But why are we so exquisitely alive to the aspersions of England.'' Why do we suffer ourselves to be so affected by the contumely she has endeavored to cast upon us.'' It is not in the opinion of England alone that honor lives and reputation has its being. The world at large is the arbiter of a nation's fame; with its thousand eyes it witnesses a nation's deeds, and from their collective tes- timony is national glory or national disgrace established. For ourselves, therefore, it is compara- tively of but little importance whether Eng- land does us justice or not; it is perhaps of far more importance to herself. She is instil- ling anger and resentment into the bosom of a youthful nation, to grow with its growth and strengthen with its strength. If in Amer- ica, as some of her writers are laboring to convince her, she is hereafter to find an invidious rival and a gigantic foe, she may :o6 WASHINGTON IRVING tlianl; those vt-ry writers for Imviii^ pro- vokeJ riv.i'sliip niul irritated hostility. Kvcry one knows the all-pervading influence of literature at the present day, and how much the opinions and passions of mankind are under its control. The mere contests of the sword are temporary; their wounds are but in the flesh, and it is the pride of the generous to forgive and forget them; but the slanders of the pen pierce to the heart; they rankle longest in the noblest spirits; they dwell ever present in the mind, and render it morbidly sensitive to the most trifling collision. It is but seldom that any one overt act produces hostilities between two nations; there exists, most commonly, a previous jealousy and ill-will; a predis- position to take offense. Trace these to their cause, and how often will they be found to originate in the mischievous effusions of mercenary writers; who, secure in their clos- ets, and for ignominious bread, concoct and circulate the venom that is to inflame the generous and the brave. I am not laying toG much stress upon this point; for it applies most emphatically to our particular case. Over no nation does the press hold a more absolute control than over the people of America; for the universal ed- ucation of the poorest classes makes every individual a reader. There is nothing pub- lished in England on the subject of our coun- try that does not circulate through every part of it. There is not a calumny dropped from English pen, nor an unworthy sarcasm uttered by an English statesman, that does not go to blight good-will, and add to the mass of latent resentment. Possessing, then, as England does, the fountain-head whence the literature of the language flows, how completely is it in her power, and how truly is it her duty, to make it the medium of ami- able and magnanimous feeling — a stream where the two nations might meet together, and drink in peace and kindness. Should she, however, persist in turning it to waters of bitterness, the time may come w^hen she may repent her folly. The present friend- ship of America may be of but little moment to her; but the future destinies of that coun- try do not admit of a doubt; over those of England there lower some shadows of uncer- tainty. Should, then, a day of gloom arrive; should these reverses overtake her, from which the proudest empires have not been exempt; she may look back with regret at her infatuation, in repulsing from her side a nation she might have grappled to her bosom, and thus destroying her only chance for real friendship beyond the boundaries of her own dominions. There is a general impression in England, that the people of the United States are in- imical to the parent country. It is one of the errors which have been diligently prop- agated by designing writers. There is, doubtless, considerable political hostility, and a general soreness at the illiberality of the English press; but, generally speaking, the prepossessions of the people are strongly in favor of England. Indeed, at one time, they amounted, in many parts of the Union, to an absurd degree of bigotry. The bare name of Englishman was a passport to the confidence and hospitality of every family, and too often gave a transient currency to the w^orthless and the ungrateful. Through- out the country there was something of en- thusiasm connected with the idea of Eng- land. We looked to it with a hallowed feel- ing of tenderness and veneration, as the land of our forefathers — the august repository of the monuments and antiquities of our race — the birthplace and mausoleum of the sages and heroes of our paternal history. After our own country, there was none in whose glory we more delighted — none whose good opinion we w-ere more anxious to pos- sess— none towards which our hearts yearned with such throbbings of w^arm consanguinity. P-ven during the late w^ar,^ w^henever there was the least opportunity for kind feel- ings to spring forth, it was the delight of the generous spirits of our country to show that, in the midst of hostilities, they still kept alive the sparks of future friendship. Is all this to be at an end? Is this golden band of kindred sympathies, so rare betw^een nations, to be broken forever.'' — Perhaps it is for the best — it may dispel an illusion w-hich might have kept us in mental vassalage; which might have interfered occasionally with our true interests, and prevented the growth of proper national pride. But it is hard to give up the kindred tit! and there are feelings dearer than interest — closer to JThe Warof 1812. THE SKETCH BOOK 207 the heart than pride — that will still make us cast back a look of regret, as we wander far- ther and farther from the paternal roof, and lament the waywardness of the parent that would repel the affections of the child. Short-sighted and injudicious, however, as the conduct of England may be in this sys- tem of aspersion, recrimination on our part would be equally ill-judged. I speak not of a prompt and spirited vindication of our country, nor the keenest castigation of her slanderers — but I allude to a disposition to retaliate in kind, to retort sarcasm and in- spire prejudice, which seems to be spreading widely among our writers. Let us guard par- ticularly against such a temper, for it would double the evil instead of redressing the wrong. Nothing is so easy and inviting as the retort of abuse and sarcasm; but it is a paltry and an unprofitable contest. It is the alternative of a morbid mind, fretted into petulance, rather than warmed into indignation. If England is willing to permit the mean jealousies of trade or the rancorous animosities of politics to deprave the in- tegrity of her press and poison the fountain of public opinion, let us beware of her ex- ample. She may deem it her interest to dif- fuse error and engender antipathy for the purpose of checking emigration; we have no purpose of the kind to serve. Neither have we any spirit of national jealousy to gratify, for as yet, in all our rivalships with England, we are the rising and the gaining party. There can be no end to answer, there- fore, but the gratification of resentment — a mere spirit of retaliation; and even that is impotent. Our retorts are never republished in England; they fall short, therefore, of their aim, but they foster a querulous and peevish temper among our writers; they sour the sweet flow of our early literature, and sow thorns and brambles among its blossoms. What is still worse, they circulate through our own country, and, as far as they have effect, excite virulent national prejudices. This last is the evil most especially to be dep- recated. Governed as we are entirely by public opinion, the utmost care should be taken to preserve the purity of the public mind. Knowledge is power and truth is knowledge; whoever, therefore, knowingly propagates a prejudice, willfully saps the foundation of his country's strength. I he members of a republic, above all other men, should be candid and dispassionate. They are, individually, portions of the sover- eign mmd and sovereign will, and should be enabled to come to all (juestions of national concern with calm and unbiased judgments. From the peculiar nature of our relations with England, we must have more frequent ques- tions of a difficult and delicate character with her than with any other nation; ques- tions that affect the most acute and excit- able feelings; and as in the adjusting of these our national measures must ultimately be determined by popular sentiment, we cannot be too anxiously attentive to purify it from all latent passion or prepossession. Opening, too, as we do, an asylum for strangers from every portion of the earth, we should receive all with impartiality. It should be our pride to exhibit an example of one nation, at least, destitute of national an- tipathies, and exercising not merely the overt acts of hospitality, but those more rare and noble courtesies which spring from liberality of opinion. What have we to do wMth national preju- dices? They are the inveterate diseases of old countries, contracted in rude and igno- rant ages when nations knew but little of each other, and looked beyond their own bound- aries with distrust and hostility. We, on the contrary, have sprung into national existence in an enlightened and philosophic age, when the different parts of the habitable world and the various branches of the human family have been indefatigably studied and made known to each other; and we forgo the advantages of our birth, if we do not shake off the national prejudices, as we w^ould the local superstitions of the old world. But above all let us not be influenced by any angry feelings, so far as to shut our eyes to the perception of what is really excellent and amiable in the English character. We are a young people, necessarily an imitative one, and must take our examples and models in a great degree from the existing nations of Europe. There is no country more worthy of our study than England. The spirit of her constitution is most analogous to ours. The manners of her people — their intellec- tual activity — their freedom of opinion — their habits of thinking on those subjects which concern the dearest interests and most 208 WASHINGTON IRVING sacred charitiis of private life, are all con- penial to the Anurican character; and, in fact, are all intrinsically excellent; for it is in the moral feelinc; of the people that the deep founilations of British prosperity are laid; and however the superstructure may be time-worn, or overrun by abuses, there must be something solid in the basis, admirable in the materials, and stable in the structure of an edihce that so long has towered unshaken amidst the tempests of the world. Let it be the pride of our writers, therefore, discarding all feelings of irritation, and dis- daining to retaliate the illiberality of British authors, to speak of the English nation with- out prejudice and with determined candor. While they rebuke the indiscriminating big- otry with which some of our countrymen ad- mire and imitate everything English merely because it is English, let them frankly point out what is really worthy of approbation. We may thus place England before us as a per- petual volume of reference, wherein are re- corded sound deductions from ages of ex- perience; and while we avoid the errors and absurdities which may have crept into the page, we may draw thence golden maxims of practical wisdom, wherewith to strengthen and to embellish our national character. RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND Oh! friendly to the best pursuits of man, Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, Domestic life in rural pleasures past! COWPER. The stranger who would form a correct opinion of the English character must not confine his observations to the metropolis. He must go forth into the country; he must sojourn in villages and hamlets; he must visit castles, villas, farmhouses, cottages; he must wander through parks and gardens; along hedges and green lanes; he must loiter about country churches; attend wakes and fairs and other rural festivals; and cope with the people in all their conditions and all their habits and humors. In some countries the large cities absorb the wealth and fashion of the nation; they are the only fixed abodes of elegant and in- telligent society, and the country is inhabited almost entirely by boorish peasantry. In England, on the contrary, the metropolis is a mere gathering place, or general rendez- vous, of the polite classes, where they devote a small portion of the year to a iiurry of gay- cty and dissipation, and, having indulged this kind of carnival, return again to the ap- parently more congenial habits of rural life. Fhe various orders of society are therefore diffused over the whole surface of the king- dom, and the most retired neighborhoods afford specimens of the different ranks. The English, in fact, are strongly gifted with the rural feeling. They possess a quick sensibility to the beauties of nature and a keen relish for the pleasures and employ- ments of the country. This passion seems inherent in them. Even the inhabitants of cities, born and brought up among brick walls and bustling streets, enter with facility into rural habits, and evince a tact for rural occupation. The merchant has his snug re- treat in the vicinity of the metropolis, where he often displays as much pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower-garden and the maturing of his fruits, as he does in the con- duct of his business and the success of a com- mercial enterprise. Even those less fortu- nate individuals who are doomed to pass their lives in the midst of din and traffic, contrive to have something that shall remind them of the green aspect of nature. In the most dark and dingy quarters of the city, the drawing-room window resembles frequently a bank of flowers; every spot capable of veg- etation has its grass-plot and flower-bed; and every square its mimic park, laid out with picturesque taste an^ gleaming w^ith refreshing verdure. Those who see the Englishman only in town are apt to form an unfavorable opin- ion of his social character. He is either ab- sorbed in business, or distracted by the thousand engagements that dissipate time, thought, and feeling, in this huge metrop- olis. He has, therefore, too commonly a look of hurry and abstraction. Wherever he hap- pens to be, he is on the point of going some- where else; at the moment he is talking on one subject, his mind is wandering to an- other; and while paying a friendly visit, he is calculating how he shall economize time so as to pay the other visits allotted in the morning. An immense metropolis like Lon- don is calculated to make men selfish and uninteresting. In their casual and transient THE SKETCH HOOK 209 meetings they can but deal briefly in com- monplaces. They present but the cold super- ficies of character — its rich and genial qual- ities have no time to be warmed into a flow. It is in the country that the Englishman gives scope to his natural feelings. He breaks loose gladly from the cold formal- ities and negative civilities of town; throws off his habits of shy reserve, and becomes joyous and free-hearted. He manages to collect around him all the conveniences and elegancies of polite life, and to banish its restraints. His country-seat abounds with every requisite, either for studious retire- ment, tasteful gratification, or rural exer- cise. Books, paintings, music, horses, dogs, and sporting implements of all kinds, are at hand. He puts no constraint either upon his guests or himself, but in the true spirit of hospitality provides the means of enjoyment and leaves every one to partake according to his inclination. The taste of the English in the cultivation of land, and in what is called landscape gar- dening, is unrivaled. They have studied nature intently, and discover an exquisite sense of her beautiful forms and harmo- nious combinations. Those charms, which in other countries she lavishes in wild solitudes, are here assembled round the haunts of domestic life. They seem to have caught her coy and furtive graces, and spread them like witchery about their rural abodes. Nothing can be more imposing than the magnificence of English park scenery. Vast lawns that extend like sheets of vivid green, with here and there clumps of gigantic trees heaping up rich piles of foliage; the solemn pomp of groves and woodland glades with the deer trooping in silent herds across them, the hare bounding away to the covert, or the pheasant suddenly bursting upon the wing; the brook, taught to wind in natural meanderings or expand into a glassy lake; the sequestered pool, reflecting the quiver- ing trees, with the yellow leaf sleeping on its bosom, and the trout roaming fearlessly about its limpid waters; while some rustic temple or sylvan statue, grown green and dank with age, gives an air of classic sanctity to the seclusion. These are but a few of the features of park scenery; but what most delights me is the creative talent with which the English deco- rate the unostentatious abodes of middle life. The rudest habitation, the most un- promising and scanty portion of land, in the hands of an Englishman of taste, becomes a little paradise. \\ ith a nicely discriminating eye, he seizes at once upon its capabili- ties, and pictures in his mind the future land- scape. The sterile spot grows into loveliness under his hand; and yet the operations of art which produce the eflPect are scarcely to be perceived. The cherishing and training of some trees; the cautious pruning of others; the nice distribution of flowers and plants of tender and graceful foliage; the introduction of a green slope of velvet turf; the partial opening to a peep of blue distance or silver gleam of water: all these are managed with a delicate tact, a pervading yet quiet assiduity, like the magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a favorite picture. The residence of people of fortune and re- finement in the country has diflPused a degree of taste and elegance in rural economy that descends to the lowest class. The very laborer, with his thatched cottage and nar- row slip of ground, attends to their embellish- ment. The trim hedge, the grass-plot before the door, the little flower-bed bordered with snug box, the woodbine trained up against the wall and hanging its blossoms about the lattice, the pot of flowers in the window, the holly providentl}" planted about the house to cheat winter of its dreariness, and to throw in a semblance of green summer to cheer the fireside: all these bespeak the influence of taste, flowing down from high sources, and pervading the lowest levels of the public mind. If ever Love, as poets sing, delights to visit a cottage, it must be the cottage of an English peasant. The fondness for rural life among the higher classes of the English has had a great and salutary effect upon the national charac- ter. I do not know a finer race of men than the English gentlemen. Instead of the soft- ness and effeminacy which characterize the men of rank in most countries, they exhibit a union of elegance and strength, a robust- ness of frame and freshness of complexion, which I am inclined to attribute to their living so much in the open air, and pursuing so eagerly the invigorating recreations of the country. These hardy exercises produce also a healthful tone of mind and spirits. 210 WASHINGTON IRVING and a manliness and simplicity of manners, which even the folhes and dissipations of the town cannot easily pervert, and can never entirely destroy. In the country, too, the different orders of society seem to approach more freely, to be more disposed to blend and operate favorably upon each other. The distinctions between them do not ap- pear to be so marked and impassable as in the cities. The manner in which property has been distributed into small estates and farms has established a regular gradation from the nobleman, through the classes of gentry, small landed proprietors, and sub- stantial farmers, down to the laboring peasantry; and while it has thus banded the extremes of society together, has infused into each intermediate rank a spirit of inde- pendence. This, it must be confessed, is not so universally the case at present as it was formerly; the larger estates having, in late years of distress, absorbed the smaller, and, in some parts of the country, almost annihilated the sturdy race of small farmers. These, however, I believe, are but casual breaks in the general system I have men- tioned. In rural occupation there is nothing mean and debasing. It leads a man forth among scenes of natural grandeur and beauty; it leaves him to the workings of his own mind, operated upon by the purest and most ele- vating of external influences. Such a man may be smiple and rough, but he cannot be vulgar. The man of refinement, therefore, finds nothing revolting in an intercourse with the lower orders in rural life, as he does when he casually mingles with the lower orders of cities. He lays aside his distance and reserve, and is glad to waive the dis- tinctions of rank, and to enter into the hon- est, heartfelt enjoyments of common life. Indeed the very amusements of the country brmg men more and more together; and the sound of hound and horn blend all feelings into harmony. I believe this is one great reason why the nobility and gentry are more popular among the inferior orders in England than they are in any other country; and why the latter have endured so many excessive pressures and extremities, without repining more generally at the unequal dis- tribution of fortune and privilege. To this mingling of cultivated and rustic society may also be attributed the rural feeling that runs through British literature; the frequent use of illustrations from rural life; those incomparable descriptions of nature that abound in the British poets, that have continued down from TJie Flozver and the Leaf of Chaucer,^ and have brought into our closets all the freshness and fra- grance of the dewy landscape. The pastoral writers of other countries appear as if they had paid nature an occasional visit, and be- come acquainted with her general charms; but the British poets have lived and reveled with her — they have wooed her in her most secret haunts — they have watched her minutest caprices. A spray could not tremble m the breeze — a leaf could not rustle to the ground — a diamond-drop could not patter in the stream — a fragrance could not exhale from the humble violet, nor a daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morning, but it has been noticed by these impassioned and deli- cate observers, and wrought up into some beautiful morality. The effect of this devotion of elegant minds to rural occupations has been wonderful on the face of the country. A great part of the island is rather level, and would be monoto- nous were it not for the charms of culture: but it is studded and gemmed, as it were, with castles and palaces, and embroidered with parks and gardens. It does not abound in grand and sublime prospects, but rather in little home scenes of rural repose and sheltered quiet. Every antique farmhouse and moss-grown cottage is a picture; and as the roads are continually winding, and the view is shut in by groves and hedges, the eye is delighted by a continual succession of small landscapes of captivating loveliness. The great charm, however, of English scenery is the moral feeling that seems to pervade it. It is associated in the mind with ideas of order, of quiet, of sober well-estab- lished principles, of hoary usage and reverend custom. Everything seems to be the growth of ages of regular and peaceful existence. The old church of remote architecture, with its low massive portal, its Gothic tower, its windows rich with tracery and painted glass, 1 Since Trving's death it has been shown by Skeat that this poem was not written by Chaucer, but prob- ably by an unknown woman at a time later than the year of Chaucer's death. THE SKETCH BOOK 211 in scrupulous preservation, its stately monu- ments of warriors and worthies of the olden time, ancestors of the present lords of the soil, its tombstones recording successive generations of sturdy yeomanry whose progeny .still plough the same fields and kneel at the same altar; the parsonage, a quaint irregular pile, partly antiquated, but repaired and altered in the tastes of various ages and occupants; the stile and footpath leading from the churchyard across pleasant fields and along shady hedgerows, according to an immemorial right of way; the neigh- boring village, with its venerable cottages, its public green sheltered by trees, under which the forefathers of the present race have sported; the antique family mansion, standing apart in some little rural domain, but looking down with a protecting air on the surrounding scene: all these common features of English landscape evince a calm and settled security, and hereditary trans- mission of home-bred virtues and local at- tachments, that speak deeply and touchingly for the moral character of the nation. It is a pleasing sight of a Sunday morning, when the bell is sending its sober melody across the quiet fields, to behold the peas- antry in their best finery, with ruddy faces and modest cheerfulness, thronging tran- quilly along the green lanes to church; but it is still more pleasing to see them in the evenings, gathering about their cottage doors, and appearing to exult in the humble comforts and embellishments which their own hands have spread around them. It is this sweet home feeling, this settled repose of affection in the domestic scene, that is, after all, the parent of the steadiest virtues and purest enjoyments; and I can- not close these desultory remarks better than by quoting the words of a modern Eng- lish poet, who has depicted it with remark- able felicity: Through each gradation, from the castled hall. The city dome, the villa crowned with shade. But chief from modest mansions numberless, In town or hamlet, shelt'ring middle life, Down to the cottaged vale and straw-roofed shed; This western isle hath long been famed for scenes Where bliss domestic finds a dwelling-place; Domestic bliss, that, like a harmless dove (Honor and sweet endearment keeping guard), Can center in a little quiet nest All that desire would fly for through the earth; That can, the world eluding, be itself A world enjoyed; that wants no witnesses But its own sharers and approving heaven; That, like a flower deep hid in rocky cleft. Smiles, though 'tis looking only at the sky.^ JOHN BULL An old song, made by an aged old pate, Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a great estate, That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate. With an old study filled full of learned old books, With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks, With an old buttery hatch worn quite oflf the hooks, And an old kitchen that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks. Like an old courtier, etc. Old Song. There is no species of humor in which the English more excel than that which consists in caricaturing and giving ludicrous appella- tions or nicknames. In this way they have whimsically designated, not merely individ- uals, but nations; and in their fondness for pushing a joke they have not spared even themselves. One would think that in personi- fying itself a nation would be apt to picture something grand, heroic, and imposing; but it is characteristic of the peculiar humor of the English, and of their love for what is blunt, comic, and familiar, that they have embodied their national oddities in the figure of a sturdy, corpulent old fellow, with a three- cornered hat, red waistcoat, leather breeches, and stout oaken cudgel. Thus they have taken a singular delight in exhibiting their most private foibles in a laughable point of view; and have been so successful in their delineations that there is scarcely a being in actual existence more absolutely present to the public mind than that eccentric person- age, John Bull. Perhaps the continual contemplation of the character thus drawn of them has contri- buted to fix it upon the nation, and thus to give reality to what at first may have been painted in a great measure from the imagina- 1 From a Poem on the death of the Princess Charlotte, by the Reverend Rann Kennedy, A.M. (Irving's note.) 21 WASHINGTON IRVING tion. Men arc apt to acquire peculiarities that are continually ascribed to them. The common orders of English seem wonderfully captivated with the beau ideal which they have formed of John Bull, and endeavor to act up to the broad caricature that is per- petually before their eyes. Unluckily, they sometimes make their boasted Hull-ism an apology for their prejudice or grossness; and this I have especially noticed among those truly home-bred and genuine sons of the soil who have never migrated beyond the sound of Bow-bells. 1 If one of these should be a little uncouth in speech and apt to utter im- pertinent truths, he confesses that he is a real John Bull and always speaks his mind. If he now and then flies into an unreasonable burst of passion about trifles, he observes that John Bull is a choleric old blade, but then his passion is over in a moment and he bears no malice. If he betrays a coarseness of taste and an insensibility to foreign refinements, he thanks Heaven for his ignorance — he is a plain John Bull and has no relish for frippery and knickknacks. His very proneness to be gulled by strangers and to pay extravagantly for absurdities is excused under the plea of munificence — for John is always more gener- ous than wise. Thus, under the name of John Bull, he will contrive to argue every fault into a merit, and will frankly convict himself of being the honestest fellow in existence. However little, therefore, the character may have suited in the first instance, it has gradually adapted itself to the nation, or rather they have adapted themselves to each other; and a stranger w^ho wishes to study English peculiarities may gather much valu- able information from the innumerable portraits of John Bull as exhibited in the windows of the caricature-shops. Still, how- ever, he is one of those fertile humorists that are continually throwing out new portraits and presenting different aspects from differ- ent points of view; and, often as he has been described, I cannot resist the temptation to give a slight sketch of him, such as he has met my eye. John Bull, to all appearance, is a plain, downright, matter-of-fact fellow, with much less of poetry about him than rich prose. ' Bells of the church of St. Mary le Bow, Cheapside, London. There is little of romance in his nature, but a vast deal of strong natural feeling. He excels in humor more than in wit, is jolly rather than gay, melancholy rather than morose; can easily be moved to a sudden tear, or sur- prised into a broad laugh; but he loathes sen- timent and has no turn for light pleasantry. He is a boon companion if you allow him to have his humor and to talk about himself; and he will stand by a friend in a quarrel, with life and purse, however soundly he may be cudgeled. In this last respect, to tell the truth, he has a propensity to be somewhat too ready. He is a busy-minded personage, who thinks not merely for himself and family, but for all the country round, and is most generously dis- posed to be everybody's champion. He is continually volunteering his services to settle his neighbors' affairs, and takes it in great dudgeon if they engage in any matter of con- sequence without asking his advice, though he seldom engages in any friendly office of the kind wMthout finishing by getting into a squabble with all parties, and then railing bitterly at their ingratitude. He unluckily took lessons in his youth in the noble science of defense, and having accomplished himself in the use of his limbs and his weapons, and become a perfect master at boxing and cudgel play, he has had a troublesome life of it ever since. He cannot hear of a quarrel between the most distant of his neighbors but he begins incontinently to fumble with the head of his cudgel, and consider whether his inter- est or honor does not require that he should meddle in the broil. Indeed, he has extended his relations of pride and policy so com- pletely over the whole country that no event can take place without infringing some of his finely spun rights and dignities. Couched in his little domain, with these filaments stretch- ing forth in every direction, he is like some choleric, bottle-bellied old spider who has woven his web over a whole chamber, so that a fly cannot buzz, nor a breeze blow, without startling his repose and causing him to sally forth wrathfully from his den. Though really a good-hearted, good- tempered old fellow at bottom, yet he is singularly fond of being in the midst of con- tention. It is one of his peculiarities, how- ever, that he only relishes the beginning of an affray; he always goes into a fight with THE SKETCH HOOK 213 alacrity, but comes out of it grumbling even when victorious; and though no one fights with more obstinacy to carry a contested point, yet when the battle is over and he comes to the reconciliation, he is so much taken up with the mere shaking of hands that he is apt to let his antagonist pocket all that they have been quarreling about. It is not, therefore, fighting that he ought so much to be on his guard against as making friends. It is difficult to cudgel him out of a farthing, but, put him in good humor, and you may bargain him out of all the money in his pocket. He is like a stout ship, which will weather the roughest storm uninjured, but roll its masts overboard in the succeeding calm. He is a little fond of playing the magnifico abroad, of pulling out a long purse, flinging his money bravely about at boxing matches, horse races, cock fights, and carrying a high head among "gentlemen of the fancy" ;i but immediately after one of these fits of extrav- agance, he will be taken with violent qualms of economy, stop short at the most trivial expenditure, talk desperately of being ruined and brought upon the parish, and in such moods will not pay the smallest tradesman's bill without violent altercation. He is, in fact, the most punctual and discontented paymaster in the world; drawing his coin out of his breeches pocket with infinite reluc- tance, paying to the uttermost farthing, but accompanying every guinea with a growl. With all his talk of economy, however, he is a bountiful provider and a hospitable housekeeper. His economy is a whimsical kind, its chief object being to devise how he may afford to be extravagant; for he will be- grudge himself a beefsteak and a pint of port one day, that he may roast an ox whole, broach a hogshead of ale, and treat all his neighbors on the next. His domestic establishment is enormously expensive; not so much from any great out- ward parade as from the great consumption of solid beef and pudding, the vast number of followers he feeds and clothes, and his singular disposition to pay hugely for small services. He is a most kind and indulgent master, and, provided his servants humor his peculiarities, flatter his vanity a little now and 1 I.e., sporting characters. then, and do not peculate grossly on him before his face, they may manage him to per- fection. Everything that lives on him seems to thrive and grow fat. His house-servants are well paid, and pampered, and have little to do. His horses are sleek and lazy, and prance slowly before his state carriage; and his house-dogs sleep quietly about the door, and will hardly bark at a house-breaker. His family mansion is an old castellated manor-house, gray with age, and of a most venerable though weather-beaten appear- ance. It has been built upon no regular plan, but is a vast accumulation of parts erected in various tastes and ages. The center bears evident traces of Saxon architecture, and is as solid as ponderous stone and old English oak can make it. Like all the relics of that style, it is full of obscure passages, intricate mazes, and dusky chambers; and though these have been partially lighted up in mod- ern days, yet there are many places where you must still grope in the dark. Additions have been made to the original edifice from time to time, and great alterations have taken place; towers and battlements have been erected during wars and tumults, wings built in times of peace, and outhouses, lodges, and offices run up according to the whim or con- venience of different generations, until it has become one of the most spacious, rambling tenements imaginable. An entire wing is taken up with the family chapel, a reverend pile that must have been exceedingly sump- tuous, and indeed in spite of having been altered and simplified at various periods has still a look of solemn religious pomp. Its walls within are stored with the monuments of John's ancestors; and it is snugly fitted up with soft cushions and well-lined chairs, where such of his family as are inclined to church services may doze comfortably in the discharge of their duties. To keep up this chapel has cost John much money; but he is stanch in his religion and piqued in his zeal, from the circumstance that many dissenting chapels have been erected in his vicinity, and several of his neighbors, with whom he has had quarrels, are strong papists. To do the duties of the chapel, he main- tains at a large expense a pious and portly family chaplain. He is a most learned and decorous personage and a truly well-bred 214 WASHINGTON IRVINC] Christian, who always hacks the old gentle- man in his opinions, winks discreetly at his little peccaiiilloes, rebukes the children when refractory, and is of j^reat use in exhorting the tenants to read their Bibles, say their prayers, and, above all, to pay their rents punctually and without ;>ruinhlinf?. The family apartments are in a very anti- quated taste, somewhat heavy and often inconvenient, but full of the solemn maj^ni- ficence of former times; fitted up with rich though faded tapestry, unwieldy furniture, and loads of massive, gorgeous old plate. The vast fireplaces, ample kitchens, exten- sive cellars, and sumptuous banqueting halls all speak of the roaring hospitality of days of yore, of which the modern festivity at the manor-house is but a shadow. There are, however, complete suites of rooms apparently deserted and time-worn, and towers and tur- rets that are tottering to decay, so that in high winds there is danger of their tumbling about the ears of the household. John has frequently been advised to have the old edifice thoroughly overhauled, and to have some of the useless parts pulled down, and the others strengthened w^ith their mate- rials; but the old gentleman always grows testy on this subject. He swears the house is an excellent house, that it is tight and weatherproof, and not to be shaken by tem- pests; that it has stood for several hundred years, and therefore is not likely to tumble down now; that as to its being inconvenient, his family is accustomed to the inconveni- ences, and would not be comfortable without them; that as to its unwieldy size and irregu- lar construction, these result from its being the growth of centuries, and being improved by the wisdom of every generation; that an old family like his requires a large house to dwell in; new, upstart families may live in modern cottages and snug boxes, but an old English family should inhabit an old English manor-house. If you point out any part of the building as superfluous, he insists that it is material to the strength or decoration of the rest and the harmony of the whole, and swears that the parts are so built into each other that if you pull down one, you lun the risk of having the whole about your ears. The secret of the matter is, that John has a great disposition to protect and patronize. He thmks it indispensable to the dignity of an ancient and honorable family to be boun- teous in its appointments and to be eaten up by dependents; and so, partly from pride and partly from kind-heariedness, he makes it a rule always to give shelter and main- tenance to his superannuated servantt;. The consequence is, that like many other venerable family establishments, his manor is encumbered by old retainers whom he can- not turn off, and an old style which he can- not lay down. His mansion is like a great hospital of invalids, and with all its magni- tude is not a whit too large for its inhabitants. Not a nook or corner but is of use in housing some useless personage. Groups of veteran beef-eaters, gouty pensioners, and retired heroes of the buttery and the larder are seen lolling about its walls, crawling over its lawns, dozing under its trees, or sunning themselves upon the benches at its doors. Every office and outhouse is garrisoned by these supernumeraries and their families, for they are amazingly prolific, and when they die off are sure to leave John a legacy of hungry mouths to be provided for. A mat- tock cannot be struck against the most moldering tumble-down tower, but out pops, from some cranny or loophole, the gray pate of some superannuated hanger-on, who has lived at John's expense all his life, and makes the most grievous outcry at their pulling down the roof from over the head of a worn- out servant of the family. This is an appeal that John's honest heart never can with- stand, so that a man who has faithfully eaten his beef and pudding all his life is sure to be rewarded with a pipe and tankard in his old days. A great part of his park, also, is turned into paddocks, where his broken-down chargers are turned loose to graze undis- turbed for the remainder of their existence — a worthy example of grateful recollection, which if some of his neighbors were to imi- tate would not be to their discredit. Indeed, it is one of his great pleasures to point out these old steeds to his visitors, to dwell on their good qualities, extol their past serv- ices, and boast with some little vainglory of the perilous adventures and hardy exploits through which they have carried him. He is given, however, to indulge his ven- eration for family usages and famaly incum- brances to a whimsical extent. His manor J THE SKETCH BOOK 215 is infested by Rani^s of p;ypsies, yet he will not suffer tliein to be driven off, because they have infested the place time out of mind, and been regular poachers upon every generation of the family. He will scarcely permit a dry branch to be lopped from the great trees that surround the house, lest it should molest the rooks that have bred there for centuries. Owls have taken possession of the dovecote, but they are hereditary owls and must not be disturbed. Swallows have nearly choked up every chimney with their nests, martins build in every frieze and cornice, crows flutter about the towers and perch on every weathercock, and old gray- headed rats may be seen in every quarter of the house running in and out of their holes undauntedly in broad daylight. In short, John has such a reverence for everything that has been long in the family that he will not hear even of abuses being reformed, be- cause they are good old family abuses. All those whims and habits have con- curred woefully to drain the old gentleman's purse, and as he prides himself on punctual- ity in money matters and wishes to main- tain his credit in the neighborhood, they have caused him great perplexity in meeting his engagements. This, too, has been in- creased by the altercations and heart-burn- ings which are continually taking place in his family. His children have been brought up to different callings and are of different ways of thinking, and as they have always been allowed to speak their minds freely, they do not fail to exercise the privilege most clamorously in the present posture of his affairs. Some stand up for the honor of the race, and are clear that the old establishment should be kept up in all its state, whatever may be the cost; others, who are more pru- dent and considerate, entreat the old gentle- man to retrench his expenses and to put his whole system of housekeeping on a more moderate footing. He has, indeed, at tmies seemed inclined to listen to their opinions, but their wholesome advice has been com- pletely defeated by the obstreperous con- duct of one of his sons. This is a noisy, rattle-pated fellow of rather low habits, who neglects his business to frequent alehouses, is the orator of village clubs, and a complete oracle among the poorest of his father's ten- ants. No sooner does he hear any of his brothers mention reform or retrenchment, than up he jumps, takes the words out of their mouths, and roars out for an overturn. When his tongue is once going nothing can stop it. He rants about the room, hectors the old man about his spendtiirift practices, ridicules his tastes and pursuits, insists that he shall turn the old servants out of doors, give the broken-down horses to the hounds, send tiie fat chaplain packing, and take a field-preacher in his place; nay, that the whole family mansion shall be leveled with the ground, and a plain one of brick and mortar built in its place. He rails at every social entertainment and family festivity, and skulks away growling to the alehouse whenever an equipage drives up to the door. Though constantly complaining of the empti- ness of his purse, yet he scruples not to spend all his pocket money in these tavern convoca- tions, and even runs up scores for the liquor over which he preaches about his father's extravagance. It may readily be imagined how little such thwarting agrees with the old cavalier's fiery temperament. He has become so irri- table from repeated crossings that the mere mention of retrenchment or reform is a signal for a brawl between him and the tavern oracle. As the latter is too sturdy and refractory for paternal discipline, having grow^n out of all fear of the cudgel, they have frequent scenes of wordy warfare, which at times run so high that John is fain to call in the aid of his son Tom, an officer who has served abroad, but is at present living at home on half-pay. This last is sure to stand by the old gentleman, right or wrong, likes nothing so much as a racketing, royster- ing life, and is ready at a wink or nod to out saber and flourish it over the orator's head if he dares to array himself against paternal authority. These family dissensions, as usual, have got abroad, and are rare food for scandal in John's neighborhood. People begin to look wise and shake their heads whenever his affairs are mentioned. They all hope that matters are not so bad with him as repre- sented, but when a man's own children begin to rail at his extravagance, things must be badly managed. They understand he is mortgaged over head and ears and is con- tinually dabbling with money lenders. He 2l6 WASHINGTON IRVING is certainly nii opcn-liandctl old gentleman, Init tliey tear he has lived too fast; indeed, they never knew any good come of this fond- ness for huntine;, racing, reveling, and prize- fighting. In short, Mr. Bull's estate is a very fine one and has heen in the family a long time, but for all that they have known many finer estates come to the hammer. What is worst of all, is the effect which these pecuniary embarrassments and domes- tic feuds have had on the poor man himself. Instead of that jolly round corporation and smug rosy face which he used to present, he has of late become as shriveled and shrunk as a frost-bitten apple. His scarlet, gold- laced waistcoat, which bellied out so bravely in those prosperous days when he sailed be- fore the wind, now hangs loosely about him like a mainsail in a calm. His leather breeches are all in folds and wrinkles, and apparently have much ado to hold up the boots that yawn on both sides of his once sturdy legs. Instead of strutting about as formerly, with his three-cornered hat on one side, flourishing his cudgel and bringing it down every moment with a hearty thump upon the ground, looking every one sturdily in the face, and trolling out a stave of a catch or a drinking song, he now goes about whistling thoughtfully to himself, with his head droop- ing down, his cudgel tucked under his arm, and his hands thrust to the bottom of his breeches pockets, which are evidently empty. Such is the plight of honest John Bull at present; yet for all this the old fellow's spirit is as tall and as gallant as ever. If you drop the least expression of sympathy or concern he takes fire in an instant, swears that he is the richest and stoutest fellow in the coun- try, talks of laying out large sums to adorn his house or buy another estate, and, w^ith a valiant swagger and grasping of his cudgel, longs exceedmgly to have another bout at quarter-staff. Though there may be something rather whimsical in all this, yet I confess I cannot look upon John's situation without strong feelings of interest. With all his odd humors ?nd obstinate prejudices, he is a sterling- hearted old blade. He may not be so won- derfully fine a fellow as he thinks himself, but he is at least twice as good as his neigh- bors represent him. His virtues are all his own — all plain, homebred, and unaffected. His very faults smack of the raciness of his good qualities. His extravagance savors of his generosity, his quarrelsomeness of his courage, his credulity of his open faith, his vanity of his pride, and his bluntness of his sincerit3^ They are all the redundancies of a rich and liberal character. He is like his own oak, rough without, but sound and solid within; whose bark abounds with excres- cences in proportion to the growth and grandeur of the timber; and whose branches make a fearful groaning and murmuring in the least storm, from their very magnitude and luxuriance. There is something, too, in the appearance of his old family mansion that is extremely poetical and picturesque; and as long as it can be rendered comfortably habitable, I should almost tremble to see it meddled with during the present conflict of tastes and opinions. Some of his advisers are no doubt good architects that might be of service, but many, I fear, are mere levelers, who, when they had once got to work with their mattocks on this venerable edifice, would never stop until they had brought it to the ground, and perhaps buried them- selves among the ruins. All that I wish is, that John's present troubles may teach him more prudence in future; that he may cease to distress his mind about other people's affairs; that he may give up the fruitless attempt to promote the good of his neigh- bors and the peace and happiness of the world by dint of the cudgel; that he may remain quietly at home, gradually get his house into repair, cultivate his rich estate according to his fancy, husband his income — if he thinks proper, bring his unruly children into order — if he can, renew the jovial scenes of ancient prosperity, and long enjoy on his paternal lands a green, an honorable, and a merry old age. THE ALHAMBRAi PALACE OF THE ALHAMBRA To the traveler imbued with a feeling for the historical and poetical, so inseparably intertwined in the annals of romantic Spain, 1" Rough drafts of some of the following tales and essays were actually written during a residence in the Alhambra; others were subsequently added, founded on notes and observations made there. Care was THE ALHAMHRA 217 the Alhambra is as much an object of devo- tion as is the Caaba to all true Moslems. How many legends and traditions, true and fabulous, — how many songs and ballads, Arabian and Spanish, of love and war and chivalry, are associated with this Oriental pile! It was the royal abode of the Moorish kings, where, surrounded with the splendors and refinements of Asiatic luxury, they held dominion over what they vaunted as a ter- restrial paradise, and made their last stand for empire in Spain, The royal palace forms but a part of a fortress, the walls of which, studded with towers, stretch irregularly round the whole crest of a hill, a spur of the Sierra Nevada or Snowy Mountains, and overlook the city; externally it is a rude con- gregation of towers and battlements, with no regularity of plan nor grace of architec- ture, and giving little promise of the grace and beauty which prevail within. In the time of the Moors the fortress was capable of containing within its outward pre- cincts an army of forty thousand men, and served occasionally as a stronghold of the sovereigns against their rebellious subjects. After the kingdom had passed into the hands of the Christians, the Alhambra continued to be a royal demesne, and was occasionally in- habited by the Castilian monarchs. The emperor Charles V commenced a sumptuous palace within its walls, but was deterred from completing it by repeated shocks of earth- quakes. The last royal residents were Philip V and his beautiful queen, Elizabetta of Parma, early in the eighteenth century. Great preparations were made for their reception. The palace and gardens were placed in a state of repair, and a new suite of apartments erected, and decorated by artists brought from Italy. The sojourn of the sovereigns was transient, and after their taken to maintain local coloring and verisimilitude; so that the whole might present a faithful and living picture of that microcosm, that singular little world into which I had been fortuitously thrown; and about which the external world had a very imperfect idea. It was my endeavor scrupulously to depict its half Spanish, half Oriental character; its mixture of the heroic, the poetic, and the grotesque; to revive the traces of grace and beauty fast fading from its walls; to record the regal and chivalrous traditions concerning those who once trod its courts; and the whimsical and superstitious legends of the motley race now burrowing among its ruins." (From Irving's Preface to Revised Ed'n, 1 851.) departure the palace once more became desolate. Still the place was maintained with some military state. The governor held it immediately from the crown, its jurisdic- tion extended down into the suburbs of the city and was independent of the captain- general of Granada. A considerable garrison was kept up; the governor had his apart- ments in the front of the old Moorish palace, and never descended into Granada without some military parade. The fortress, in fact, was a little town of itself, having several streets of houses within its walls, together with a Franciscan convent and a parochial church. The desertion of the court, however, was a fatal blow to the Alhambra. Its beautiful halls became desolate, and some of them fell to ruin; the gardens were destroyed, and the fountains ceased to play. By degrees the dwellings became filled with a loose and law- less population: contrabandistasy^ who availed themselves of its independent jurisdiction to carry on a wide and daring course of smug- gling, and thieves and rogues of all sorts, who made this their place of refuge whence they might depredate upon Granada and its vicin- ity. The strong arm of government at length interfered; the whole community was thor- oughly sifted; none were suffered to remain but such as were of honest character, and had legitimate right to a residence; the greater part of the houses were demolished and a mere hamlet left, with the parochial church and the Franciscan convent. During the recent troubles in Spain, when Granada was in the hands of the French, the Alham- bra was garrisoned by their troops, and the palace was occasionally inhabited by the French commander. With that enlightened taste which has ever distinguished the French nation in their conquests, this monument of Moorish elegance and grandeur was rescued from the absolute ruin and desolation that were overwhelming it. The roofs were repaired, the saloons and galleries protected from the weather, the gardens cultivated, the water-courses restored, the fountains once more made to throw up their sparkling showers; and Spain may thank her invaders for having preserved to her the most beauti- ful and interesting of her historical monu- ments. 1 Smugglers. 2l8 WASHING ION IRVING On tlic departure of the Kreiicli tluy l>l<^^v up several towers of the outer wall, and left the fortiHeations scarcely tenahle. Since that time the military importance of the post is at an end. The garrison is a handful of invalid soldiers, whose principal duty is to guard some of the outer towers, which serve occasionally as a prison of state; and the governor, abandoning the lofty hill of the Alhambra, resides in the center of Granada, for the more convenient dispatch of his official duties. I cannot conclude this brief notice of the state of the fortress without bearing testimony to the honorable exertions of its present commander, Don Francisco de Serna, who is tasking all the limited resources at his command to put the palace in a state of repair, and by his judicious precautions has for some time arrested its too certain decay. Had his predecessors discharged the duties of their station with equal fidelity, the Alhambra might yet have remained in almost its pristine beauty; were government to second him with means equal to his zeal, this relic of it might still be preserved for many generations to adorn the land, and attract the curious and enlightened of every clime. Our first object, of course, on the morning after our arrival, w^as a visit to this time- honored edifice; it has been so often, how- ever, and so minutely described by travelers, that I shall not undertake to give a compre- hensive and elaborate account of it, but merely occasional sketches of parts, with the mcidents and associations connected with them. Leaving our posada,^ and traversing the renowned square of the Vivarrambla, once the scene of Moorish jousts and tourna- ments, now a crowded market-place, we pro- ceeded along the Zacatin, the main street of what, in the time of the Moors, was the Great Bazaar, and w'here small shops and narrow alleys still retain the Oriental char- acter. Crossing an open place in front of the palace of the captain-general, we ascended a confined and winding street, the name of which reminded us of the chivalric days of Granada. It is called the Calle, or street of the Gomeres, from a Moorish family famous in chronicle and song. This street led up to the Puerta de las Granadas,^ a massive gate- 1 Lodging house. 2 Gate of the pomegranates. way of Cirecian architecture, built by Charles V, forming the entrance to the domains of the Alhambra. At the gate were two or three ragged super- annuated soldiers, dozing on a stone bench, the successors of the Zegris and the Aben- cerrages;'^ while a tall, meager varlet, whose rusty-brown cloak was evidently intended to conceal the ragged state of his nether gar- ments, was lounging in the sunshine and gos- siping with an ancient sentinel on duty. He joined us as we entered the gate, and offered his services to show us the fortress. I have a traveler's dislike to officious ciceroni, and did not altogether like the garb of the applicant. "You are well acquainted with the place, I presume.?" ^' Ninguno mas; pues, senor, soy hijo de la Alhambra'' — (Nobody better; in fact, sir, I am a son of the Alhambra!) The common Spaniards have certainly a most poetic way of expressing themselves. "A son of the Alhambra!" — the appellation caught me at once; the very tattered garb of my new acquaintance assumed a dignity in my eyes. It was emblematic of the for- tunes of the place, and befitted the progeny of a ruin. I put some further questions to him, and found that his title was legitimate. His family had lived in the fortress from genera- tion to generation ever since the time of the Conquest. His name was Mateo Ximenes. "Then, perhaps," said I, "you may be a descendant from the great Cardinal Ximenes?" " Dios sabe! God knows, "seiior! It may be so. We are the oldest family in the Alhambra, — Christianos viejosy old Christians, without any taint of Moor or Jew. I know we belong to some great family or other, but I forget whom. My father knows all about it; he has the coat-of- arms hanging up in his cottage, up in the fortress." There is not any Spaniard, how- ever poor, but has some claim to high pedi- gree. The first title of this ragged worthy, however, had completely captivated me, so I gladly accepted the services of the "son of Alhambra." We now found ourselves in a deep, narrow ravine, filled with beautiful groves, with a ' Names of two famous Moorish families, according to tradition perpetually hostile to each other. THE ALHAMBRA 219 steep avenue, and various footpaths winding through it, bordered with stone seats, and ornamented with fountains. To our left we beheld the towers of the Alhambra beetling above us; to our right, on the opposite side of the ravine, we w^ere equally dominated by- rival towers on a rocky eminence. These, we were told, were the torres bermejas, or vermilion towers," so called from their ruddy hue. No one knows their origin. They are of a date much anterior to the Alhambra: some suppose them to have been built by the Romans; others, by some wandering colony of Phoenicians. Ascending the steep and shady avenue, we arrived at the foot of a huge square Moorish tower, forming a kind of barbican, through which passed the main entrance to the fortress. Within the barbi- can was another group of veteran invalids, one mounting guard at the portal, while the rest, wrapped in their tattered cloaks, slept on the stone benches. This portal is called the Gate of Justice, from the tribunal held within its porch during the Moslem domi- nation, for the immediate trial of petty causes — a custom common to the Oriental nations, and occasionally alluded to in the sacred Scriptures. "Judges and officers shalt thou make thee m all thy gates, and they shall judge the people with just judgment. "^ The great vestibule, or porch of the gate, is formed by an immense Arabian arch, of the horseshoe form, which springs to half the height of the tower. On the keystone of this arch is engraven a gigantic hand. Within the vestibule, on the keystone of the portal, is sculptured, in like manner, a gigantic key. Those who pretend to some knowledge of Mohammedan symbols affirm that the hand is the emblem of doctrine, the five fingers designating the five principal command- ments of the creed of Islam, fasting, pilgrim- age, almsgiving, ablution, and war against infidels. The key, say they, is the emblem of the faith or of power; the key of Daoud, or David, transmitted to the prophet. "And the key of the house of David will I lay upon his shoulder; so he shall open and none shall shut, and he shall shut and none shall open." (Isaiah, xxii, 22.) The key we are told was emblazoned on the standard of the Moslems in opposition to the Christian emblem of the * Deuteronomy, xvi, 18. cross, when they subdued Spain or Anda- lusia. It betokened the concjuering power invested in the prophet. "He that hath the key of David, he that openeth and no man shutteth; and shutteth and no man open- eth." (Revelation, iii, 7.) A different explanation of these emblems, however, was given by the legitimate son of the Alhambra, and one more in unison with the notions of the common people, who attach something of mystery and magic to every- thing Moorish, and have all kinds of super- stitions connected with this old Moslem fortress. According to Mateo, it was a tra- dition handed down from the oldest inhabi- tants, and which he had from his father and grandfather, that the hand and key were magical devices on which the fate of the Alhambra depended. The Moorish king who built it was a great magician, or, as some believed, had sold himself to the devil, and had laid the whole fortress under a magic spell. By this means it had remained stand- ing for several years, in defiance of storms and earthquakes, while almost all other build- ings of the Moors had fallen to ruin and dis- appeared. This spell, the tradition went on to say, would last until the hand on the outer arch should reach down and grasp the key, when the whole pile would tumble to pieces, and all the treasures buried beneath it by the Moors would be revealed. Notwithstandmg this ominous prediction, we ventured to pass through the spellbound gateway, feeling some little assurance against magic art in the protection of the Virgin, a statue of whom we observed above the portal. After passing through the barbican, we ascended a narrow lane, winding between walls, and came on an open esplanade within the fortress, called the Plaza de los Algibes, or Place of the Cisterns, from great reser- voirs which undermine it, cut in the living rock by the Moors to receive the water brought by conduits from the Darro, for the supply of the fortress. Here, also, is a well of immense depth, furnishing the purest and coldest of water, — another monument of the delicate taste of the Moors, who were inde- fatigable in their exertions to obtain that element in its crystal purity. In front of this esplanade is the splendid pile commenced by Charles V, and intended, it is said, to eclipse the residence of the 220 WASHINGTON IRVING Moorisli kinus. Much of the Oriental edi- fice intended for the winter season was de- moHshed to make way for this massive pile. The .j;rand entrance was blocked up, so that the present entrance to the Moorish palace is through a simple and almost humble portal in a corner. With all the massive grandeur and architectural merit of the palace of Charles V, we regarded it as an arrogant in- truder, and, passing by it with a feeling almost of scorn, rang at the Moslem portal. W hile waiting for admittance, our self- imposed cicerone, Mateo Ximenes, informed us that the royal palace was entrusted to the care of a worthy old maiden dame called Dona Antonia-Molina, but who, according to Spanish custom, w^ent by the more neigh- borly appellation of Tia Antonia (Aunt Antonia), who maintained the Moorish halls and gardens in order and showed them to strangers. While we were talking, the door was opened by a plump little black-eyed Andalusian damsel, whom Mateo addressed as Dolores, but who, from her bright looks and cheerful disposition, evidently merited a merrier name. Mateo informed me in a whisper that she was the niece of Tia Antonia, and I found she was the good fairy w^ho was to conduct us through the enchanted palace. Under her guidance we crossed the thresh- old, and were at once transported, as if by magic wand, into other times and an Oriental realm, and were treading the scenes of Arabian story. Nothing could be in greater contrast than the unpromising exterior of the pile with the scene now before us. We found our- selves in a vast patio, or court, one hundred and fifty feet in length, and upwards of eighty feet in breadth, paved with white marble, and decorated at each end with light Moorish peristyles, one of which supported an elegant gallery of fretted architecture. Along the moldings of the cornices and on various parts of the walls were escutcheons and ciphers, and cufic^ and Arabic charac- ters in high relief, repeating the pious mot- toes of the Moslem monarchs, the builders of the Alhambra, or extolling their grandeur and munificence. Along the center of the court extended an immense basin or tank (estanque), a hundred and twenty-four feet in length, twenty-seven in breadth, and five 1 Arabic alphabet anciently employed at Cufa, a town near the lower Euphrates. in depth, receiving its water from two marble vases. Hence it is called the Court of the Alberca (from al beerkah, the Arabic for a pond or tank). Great numbers of gold-fish were to be seen gleammg through the waters of the basin, and it was bordered by hedges of roses. Passing from the Court of the Alberca under a Moorish archway, we entered the renowned Court of Lions. No part of the edifice gives a more complete idea of its original beauty than this, for none has suf- fered so little from the ravages of time. In the center stands the fountain famous in song and story. The alabaster basins still shed their diamond drops; the twelve lions which support them, and give the court its name, still cast forth crystal streams as in the days of Boabdil.2 The lions, however, are unworthy of their fame, being of miser- able sculpture, the work probably of some Christian captive. The court is laid out in flower-beds, instead of its ancient and appro- priate pavement of tiles or marble; the alter- ation, an instance of bad taste, was made by the French when in possession of Granada. Round the four sides of the court are light Arabian arcades of open filigree work, sup- ported by slender pillars of white marble, which it is supposed were originally gilded. The architecture, like that in most parts of the interior of the palace, is characterized by elegance rather than grandeur, bespeaking a delicate and graceful taste, and a disposi- tion to indolent enjoyment. When one looks upon the fairy traces of the peristyles, and the apparently fragile fretwork of the walls, it is difficult to believe that so much has sur- vived the wear and tear of centuries, the shocks of earthquakes, the violence of war, and the quiet, though no less baneful, pilfer- ings of the tasteful traveler: it is almost suf- ficient to excuse the popular tradition that the whole is protected by a magic charm. On one side of the court a rich portal opens into the Hall of the Abencerrages: so called from the gallant cavaliers of that illustrious line who were here perfidiously massacred. There are some who doubt the whole story, 2 Last Moorish king of Granada; revolted and seized throne of his father in 1481; in 1491 was attacked, defeated, and captured by Ferdinand and Isabella, who gave him his liberty on the condition that he should acknowledge himself their vassal. THE ALHAMBRA 221 but our humble cicerone Mateo pointed out the very wicket of the portal through which they were introduced one by one into the Court of Lions, and the white marble foun- tain in the center of the hall beside which they were beheaded. He showed us also certain broad ruddy stains on the pavement, traces of their blood, which, according to popular belief, can never be effaced. Finding we listened to him apparently with easy faith, he added that there was often heard at night, in the Court of Lions, a low confused sound, resembling the mur- muring of a multitude, and now and then a faint tinkling, like the distant clank of chains. These sounds were made by the spirits of the murdered Abencerrages; who nightly haunt the scene of their suffering and invoke the vengeance of Heaven on their destroyer. The sounds in question had no doubt been produced, as I had afterwards an oppor- tunity of ascertaining, by the bubbling cur- rents and tinkling falls of water conducted under the pavement through pipes and chan- nels to supply the fountains; but I was too considerate to intimate such an idea to the humble chronicler of the Alhambra. Encouraged by my easy credulity, Mateo gave me the following as an undoubted fact, which he had from his grandfather: There was once an invalid soldier, who had charge of the Alhambra to show it to strangers; as he was one evening, about twi- light, passing through the Court of Lions, he heard footsteps on the Hall of the Abencer- rages; supposing some strangers to be linger- ing there, he advanced to attend upon them, when to his astonishment he beheld four Moors richly dressed, with gilded cuirasses and scimitars, and poniards glittering with precious stones. They were walking to and fro, with solemn pace; but paused and beck- oned to him. The old soldier, however, took to flight, and could never afterwards be pre- vailed upon to enter the Alhambra. Thus it is that men sometimes turn their backs upon fortune; for it is the firm opinion of Mateo that the Moors intended to reveal the place where their treasures lay buried. A successor to the invalid soldier was more knowing; he came to the Alhambra poor; but at the end of a year went off to Malaga, bought houses, set up a carriage, and still hves there, one of the richest as well as oldest men of the place; all which, Mateo sagely sur- mised, was in consequence of his finding out the golden secret of these phantom Moors. I now perceived I had made an invaluable acquaintance in this son of the Alhambra, one who knew all the apocryphal history of the place, and firmly believed in it, and whose memory was stuffed with a kind of knowledge for which I have a lurking fancy, but which is too apt to be considered rub- bish by less indulgent philosophers. I deter- mined to cultivate the acquaintance of this learned Theban. Immediately opposite the Hall of the Abencerrages, a portal, richly adorned, leads into a liall of less tragical associations. It is light and lofty, exquisitely graceful in its architecture, paved with white marble, and bears the suggestive name of the Hall of the Two Sisters. Some destroy the romance of the name by attributing it to two enormous slabs of alabaster which lie side by side, and form a great part of the pavement: an opinion strongly supported by Mateo Ximenes. Others are disposed to give the name a more poetical significance, as the vague memorial of Moorish beauties who once graced this hall, which was evidently a part of the royal harem. This opinion I was happy to find entertained by our little bright-eyed guide, Dolores, who pointed to a balcony over an inner porch, which gallery, she had been told, belonged to the women's apartment. "You see, sefior," said she, "it is all grated and latticed, like the gallery in a convent chapel where the nuns hear mass; for the Moorish kings," added she, indignantly, "shut up their wives just like nuns." The latticed jalousies, in fact, still remain, whence the dark-eyed beauties of the harem might gaze unseen upon the zambras and other dances and entertainments of the hall below. On each side of this hall are recesses or alcoves for ottomans and couches, on which the voluptuous lords of the Alhambra in- dulged in that dreamy repose so dear to the Orientalists. A cupola or lantern admits a tempered light from above and a free circula- tion of air; while on one side is heard the refreshing sound of waters from the Foun- tain of the Lions, and on the other side the soft plash from the basin in the garden of Lindaraxa. WASHINGTON IRVING It is impossible to contemplate this scene, so perfectly Oriental, without feeling the early associations of Arabian romance, and almost expectinji to sec the white arm of some mysterious jirincess beckoning from the g.illerv, or some dark eye sparkling through the lattice. The abode of beauty is iiere as if it had been inhabited but yester- day; but where are the two sisters, where the Zoraydas and Lindaraxas! An abundant supply of water, brought from the mountains by old Moorish aque- ducts, circulates throughout the palace, sup- plying its baths and hsh-pools, sparkling in jets within its halls or murmuring in chan- nels along the marble pavements. W hen it has paid its tribute to the royal pile, and visited its gardens and parterres, it flows down the long avenue leading to the city, tinkling in rills, gushing in fountains, and maintaining a perpetual verdure in those groves that embower and beautify the whole hill of the Alhambra. I hose only who have sojourned in the ardent climates of the South can appreciate the delights of an abode combming the breezy coolness of the mountam with the freshness and verdure of the valley. While the city below pants with the noontide heat, and the parched Vega trembles to the eye, the delicate airs from the Sierra Nevada play through these lofty halls, bringing with them the sweetness of the surrounding gardens. Everything invites to that mdolent repose, the bliss of southern climes; and while the half-shut eye looks out from shaded bal- conies upon the glittering landscape, the ear is lulled by the rustling of groves and the murmur of running streams. I forbear for the present, however, to describe the other delightful apartments of the palace. My object is merely to give the reader a general introduction into an abode where, if so disposed, he may linger and loiter with me day by day until we gradually become familiar with all its localities. IMPORTANT NEGOTIATIONS. —THE AUTHOR SUCCEEDS TO THE THRONE OF BOABDIL The day was nearly spent before we could tear ourself from this region of poetry and romance to descend to the city and return to the forlorn realities of a Spanish posada. In a visit of ceremony to the Governor of the Alhambra, to whom w^e had brought letters, we dwelt with enthusiasm on the scenes we had witnessed, and could not but express surprise that he should reside in the city when he had such a paradise at his command. He pleaded the inconvenience of a residence in the palace from its situation on the crest of a hill, distant from the seat of business and the resorts of social intercourse. It did very well for monarchs, who often had need of castle walls to defend them from their own subjects. *'But, senors," added he, smiling, "if you think a residence there so desirable, my apartments in the Alhambra are at your service." It is a common and almost indispensable point of politeness in a Spaniard, to tell you his house is yours. " Esta casa es siempre a la disposicion de Vm." — "This house is always at the command of your Grace." In fact, anything of his which you admire is immediately offered to you. It is equally a mark of good breeding in you not to accept it; so we merely bowed our acknowledgments of the courtesy of the Governor in offering us a royal palace. We w^ere mistaken, how- ever. The Governor was in earnest. "You will find a rambling set of empty, unfurnished rooms," said he; "but Tia Antonia, who has charge of the palace, may be able to put them in some kind of order, and to take care of you while you are there. If you can make any arrangement with her for your accom- modation, and are content with scanty fare in a royal abode, the palace of King Chico^ is at your service." We took the Governor at his word, and hastened up the steep Calle de los Gomeres, and through the Great Gate of Justice, to negotiate with Dame Antonia, — doubting at times if this were not a dream, and fearing at times that the sage Diieiia of the fortress might be slow to capitulate. We knew we had one friend at least in the garrison who would be in our favor, the bright-eyed little Dolores, whose good graces we had propi- tiated on our first visit, and who hailed our return to the palace with her brightest looks. All, however, went smoothly. The good Tia Antonia had a little furniture to put in 1 Boabdil. II THE ALHAMBRA 223 the rooms, but it was of the commonest kind. We assured her we could bivouac on the floor. She could supply our table, but only in her own simple way; — we wanted nothing better. Her niece, Dolores, would wait upon us; and at the word we threw up our hats and the bargain was complete. The very next day we took up our abode in the palace, and never did sovereigns share a divided throne with more perfect harmony. Several days passed by like a dream, when my worthy associate,^ being summoned to Madrid on diplomatic duties, was compelled to abdicate, leavmg me sole monarch of this shadowy realm. For myself, being in a man- ner a haphazard loiterer about the world, and prone to linger in its pleasant places, here have I been suffering day by day to steal away unheeded, spellbound, for aught I know, in this old enchanted pile. Having always a companionable feeling for my reader, and being prone to live with him on confidential terms, I shall make it a point to communicate to him my reveries and re- searches during this state of delicious thral- dom. If they have the power of imparting to his imagination any of the witching charms of the place, he will not repine at lingering W'ith me for a season in the legendary halls of the Alhambra. THE HALL OF AMBASSADORS In one of my visits to the old Moorish chamber where the good Tia Antonia cooks her dinner and receives her company, I observed a mysterious door in one corner, leading apparently into the ancient part of the edifice. My curiosity being aroused, I opened it, and found myself in a narrow, blind corridor, groping along which I came to the head of a dark winding staircase, lead- ing down an angle of the Tower of Comares. Down this staircase I descended darkling, guiding myself by the wall until I came to a small door at the bottom, throwing which open, I was suddenly dazzled by emerging into the brilliant antechamber of the Hall of Ambassadors; with the fountain of the Court of the Alberca sparkling before me. The ' Prince Demetri Ivanovitch Dolgorouki, Secretary of the Russidn Embassy at Madrid. antechamber is separated from the court by an elegant gallery, supported by slender columns with spandrels of open work in the Morisco style. At each end of the ante- chamber are alcoves, and its ceiling is richly stuccoed and painted. Passing through a magnificent portal, I found myself in the far- famed Hall of Ambassadors, the audience chamber of the Moslem monarchs. It is said to be thirty-seven feet square and sixty feet high; occupies the whole interior of the Tower of Comares; and still bears the traces of past magnificence. The walls are beauti- fully stuccoed and decorated with Morisco fancifulness; the lofty ceiling was originally of the same favorite material, with the usual frostwork and pensile ornaments or stalac- tites; which, with the embellishments of vivid coloring and gilding, must have been gorgeous in the extreme. Unfortunately, it gave way during an earthquake, and brought down with it an immense arch which tra- versed the hall. It was replaced by the present vault or dome of larch or cedar, with intersecting ribs, the whole curiously wrought and richly colored; still Oriental in its char- acter, reminding one of "those ceilings of cedar and vermilion that we read of in the Prophets and the Arabian Nights."^ From the great height of the vault above the windows, the upper part of the hall is almost lost in obscurity; yet there is a mag- nificence as well as solenmity in the gloom, as through it w^e have gleams of rich gilding and the brilliant tints of the Moorish pencil. The royal throne was placed opposite the entrance in a recess, which still bears an inscription intimating that Yusef I (the monarch who completed the Alhambra) made this the throne of his empire. Every- thing in this noble hall seems to have been calculated to surround the throne with impressive dignity and splendor; there was none of the elegant voluptuousness which reigns in other parts of the palace. The tower is of massive strength, domineering over the whole edifice and overhanging the steep hillside. On three sides of the Plall of Ambassadors are windows cut through the immense thickness of the walls and com- manding extensive prospects. The balcony of the central window especially looks down 2 Urquhart's Pillars of Hercules. (Irving's note.) 224 WASIIINGION IRVING upon the \ii(l;nit vallt-y of the Darro, with its walks, its